The Rebellion
by Apologetically
Summary: Society is as brilliant a concept as it is fragile. When Akira Kurusu comes to experience this firsthand, it leaves his whole life in turmoil. Just as he's about to go insane, he learns of the existence of mysterious powers that might just offer him a way out. What questions will arise as a result of this new perspective? What characters will shape his search for true justice?
1. The Set-up

The Rebellion

Disclaimer: I do not own Persona 5 or anything related to it. All rights belong to the company of Atlus.

Chapter 1: The Setup

According to the dictionary, a 'rebellion' is a movement consisting of a great variety of individuals, which aims on overthrowing the presently ruling system.

Rebellions come in all shapes and sizes with varying degrees of importance and success. Historians are quite fond of them because they mark times of extreme discrepancy within an established society that has become rotten over time, there is something memorable happening at every corner each day, the main characters all have their own finest hours and there is at least one notable death. In short, they are really fun to write about.

One might feel the urge to ask, if rebellions are indeed such good things. They threaten the status quo after all, wreak havoc on the previously tolerable or at least sufferable order and human casualties are basically guaranteed. However, the question of whether rebellions are either ultimately benevolent or malevolent in nature is totally neglectable in comparison to the single most important of all criteria: necessity.

The concept of 'order', which, in human terms, is the direct opposite to the concept of 'rebellion', was invented to guarantee a peaceful, flourishing cooperation between greater numbers of individuals. Based on mutual agreement, rules were invoked to protect the sensitive balance between the group members, who were still very keen on achieving their own, mostly selfish goals. Since it became clear that some people within the new society were not quite willing to shelter their own ambitions for the good of their neighbours and instead threatened to abuse the rules for their own gain, the idea of the positions of power was developed.

The smartest, strongest or most trustworthy citizens were chosen by the people as direct representatives of the 'order' and given special rights by the use of which they should ensure that any and all threats to the 'order' and by extension its rules were to be rendered harmless. Thus, the representatives created a set of tools, most notably the guardians who were tasked with the protection of the rules, chosen from amongst the people and equipped with deadly force, and the courts which investigated all cases of rule violation and punished the wrongdoers if need be.

With that, the first 'society' was created, a fine spectacle to behold: The people were protected by the 'order', the 'order' was protected by the rules, the rules were protected by the guardians and the guardians were respected by the people.

And everything worked.

Seemingly.

For a while.

Because man is by nature a changeling, his achievements never stand for long. Due to the passing of time all his creations are condemned to become old-fashioned, insufficient. Such was the case with order.

New problems arose. Matters which the already existing rules were unfit to solve. And the people in charge made one grave mistake: they refused to adapt to the new circumstances. In their minds, the old system that had done so much good for them needed to be preserved no matter what and all suggestions for change or development were threats they had to erase. The will to protect order came into conflict with the wants and needs of the majority. It didn't help either, that the legitimacy of the representatives' rule had been called into question by previous incidents of injustice the people had to endure from their superiors. The wrong people had achieved some positions of power, abusing their special rights for their own advantage. Misjudged cases by the court and overbearing behaviour by the guardians completed the picture of a rotten society.

Mankind's creation was, much like mankind itself, insufficient and, also like mankind, it needed a change to keep up with the new challenges.

However, the rulers still refused to budge. Quite contrary, they enforced their grip on the citizens. The guardians became more aggressive; the court handed out severe and increasingly unjust punishments in response to even the faintest criticism towards the systems. It is nothing short from tragically ironic that their desperate attempt to protect what they believed to be 'right' led them to doing all the wrong deeds. Like, all of them. You name one bad thing, they've done it.

Oppression is the result of a government feeling threatened. It slowly exposes the corruption in a society until it becomes apparent to everyone and the desire to change the current circumstances hits the crucial mark. Think of it as the prologue to Ragnarok.

Eventually, the divide between the power and the people created an insufferable tension within the society with both sides willing to beat the other into submission at all costs. All they were missing now was a 'spark': a critical controversial event to channel the existing frustration and anger into full-on violence. Side note: someone dying or almost dying under shady circumstances is always a good way to start a rebellion.

The spark occurred and thus the world saw its first rebellion.

This was a movement of people driven by their desire for redemption, vengeance, realizing their ideals, justice, development, freedom and many other, less selfless reasons.

A rebellion is not a force of nature, but one of mankind. And it is _powerful_. A cry of a million voices yearning for change, improvement, cleansing. It is everything which its counterpart, order, isn't: it is chaotic, free, uncontrolled, the determination of man given form, a raging fire with flames sky-high, a blast, a short period of time with huge consequences. It is brutal, energizing and morally questionable. But most importantly: it is necessary.

The possibility to change a society from the ground up is required; in order to ensure that mankind with its ever-changing nature never gets imprisoned in an increasingly intolerable system that prevents progress. At this point, the rebellion comes in, makes a clean cut and establishes a new and -hopefully - improved society. And when that new society inevitably becomes corrupt and rotten and insufficient, a new rebellion will swoop in to repeat the work of its predecessor. Rinse and repeat. It is a cycle. All parts of a cycle are entitled to their existence, because if one of them is negated, all of them are effectively being rendered useless.

And this is where things get **really **interesting.

Since the purpose of a rebellion is to abolish an unsuited system and a cycle is very much a system indeed, is it possible for a rebellion to break the very system that the rebellion itself is a part of?

From the looks of it, such an event should occur naturally at some point. Yet nobody has ever heard of something like this. Should one take this as a sign that the answer to the question asked a paragraph earlier is a negative one? Is everything determined? Are there omnipresent universal rules that just cannot be broken no matter what?

Is there no such thing as freedom? Is hope simply an illusion?

Does willpower mean nothing? Are all efforts for naught?

Is mankind lost?

Or has there just never been a case of a rebellion breaking its own cycle in the history of the universe? Will it happen eventually? In the near future, perhaps?

Is freedom the one thing worth fighting for? Is hope the golden path to salvation?

Does free will harbour the power to change everything? Can one make a difference?

Is there a happy end?

Questions like these might be bothersome to mortals. To the Deity however, they were simply outrageous.

Eons ago, when the first society was created, a great number of humans channelled their ambitions and desires for the very first time. Their wishes, their goals, their convictions, when fused together, were able to affect the 'other world', or the Metaverse as some like to call it, in an unprecedented way.

The Metaverse is the world of human cognition. As such it is directly shaped by the way humans _perceive_ the real world. The two worlds are mirroring each other. If the one dimension prospers, then so does the other.

The foundation of the first society heavily influenced and changed the Metaverse: thoughts of happiness, confidence and optimism filled the entire dimension with indescribable amounts of energy. Hope became an eternal light that purged the darkness of doubt and despair. Faith gave structure to the uncontrolled chaos. Trust between humans enabled true beauty to blossom in the most poisonous of swamps. And love formed the whole Metaverse into one giant, gorgeous landscape: the Garden of Eden.

Paradise.

Perfection held together by the sincerity, the honesty, the pure good will of every man and woman alive. The supreme testimony to the prowess of the ultimately positive nature of man.

Unhindered by previous bad experiences with societies, because there hadn't yet been any, the people celebrated what was undeniably a glorious triumph.

And on the highest point of its success, mankind wished for things to never change.

This was, is and will always be the most tragic paradox in the world. Quite literally.

A wise man once said: 'The path to hell is littered with people's good intentions.' These words may have never rung more true than in this case. Because the reasoning behind mankind's wish was so very sound: things were going great, why change them? Wasn't this functioning society what they had been working for in the first place? Wouldn't changing it mean to throw all that effort out the window? Change could have unforeseen consequences, why take the risk? And they convinced themselves that change was a threat which needed to be subdued.

But nature had decreed otherwise long, long ago. Change is absolutely essential to the very goals of life itself: evolution, progress, development.

And as the humans wished with all their might for permanent stability, completely contradicting their own ever-changing nature, all their good will, their hopes, their desires, at once, became distorted. This caused a massive shift in the Metaverse and thus, at the centre of paradise itself, from man's combined wilful ignorance, a new creature was born.

A deity.

The first shadow.

To keep this explanation from going completely off the rails: the Deity was the living embodiment of the concept of order. As the first stable entity within the Metaverse, the Deity began to reshape the dimension to its liking. It turned the Garden of Eden into a huge palace and populated it with fragments of its own power, lesser shadows, formed and fuelled from and by negative human emotions.

When corruption spread more and more within the first society, smaller palaces appeared in the Metaverse, each of them constructed from the particularly distorted desires of a human in the real world and ruled over by their 'shadow', an entity of the Metaverse representing their deepest flaws and darkest ambitions. But none of these Palaces could even begin to compare to the First Palace, at the centre of which stood the Holy Grail, the very symbol of the treaty connecting the Deity and mankind. The treasure, which represented order itself, needed to be protected at all costs for it was linked to the life of the Deity. If the Grail ever were to be stolen, every established order in the world would crumble and the Deity itself would be no more. From its first moment of consciousness the Deity dreaded this worst-case-scenario. It feared non-existence, the unknown, the risk. It fought against instability, against all kinds of change. Its methods became more and more ruthless as it did its damndest to suppress all evolution in the Metaverse, completely oblivious to the fact that its own birth had also been a consequence of the same thing it now desperately tried to fight.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this was around the time when the first humans started becoming corrupt. The Deity was well aware that human emotions could affect the Metaverse. It used its influence on human cognition to reach into the real world and turn those who could prevent changes, mostly people in positions of power, into its unknowing servants. These would then spread their negative influence within society, which, in turn, corrupted the Metaverse. Failing to comprehend the controversy of its own deeds, the Deity would deem it necessary to further interfere in the material world, corrupting it even more, which would, consequently, further corrupt the Metaverse and so on and so on until both dimensions were caught in a terrifying downward-spiral of constantly increasing ruin.

The universe tore itself apart. Order had failed in its purpose to abolish chaos by becoming chaos in turn. There was no way to save it. A clean cut needed to be made to allow for a thorough restart to happen.

Thankfully, mankind possessed a second urge next to the omnipresent desire for 'more': free will, the ability to choose a goal and dedicate oneself to it. The power to endure terrible hardships and make heart-wrenching decisions to protect an ideal which one's conscience has deemed too important to give up.

Most humans back then _wanted _change. The atrocities committed by those in charge had become unbearable to the vast majority of people. The tension rose to an unprecedented height. Both sides stood on the brink of a violent conflict.

And then the government committed one more crime.

One last overstepped boundary.

And an incredible number of people unanimously cried out for something to happen.

Something _did_ happen.

Their combined will _forced_ events of universal proportions to take a different direction. The 'spark', the moment that kick-started the first rebellion, was synonymous with the birth of another cosmic entity.

The concept of rebellion made manifest, representing the inevitability of change and fuelled by the single most capable of all powers, the will of mankind, this new entity quickly came to be known under one fearfully whispered name:

The Devil.

The Devil was pretty intense, as is to be expected from someone whose main job requirement is the ability to destroy everything. While the humans fought among themselves, citizens against guardians, he entered the Metaverse and launched a full frontal assault on the First Palace by himself.

As the abstract concepts of 'order' and 'rebellion' clashed in the material world, so did their physical representations in the Metaverse.

There are no descriptions to be found on how this epic battle went down, but the outcome remains the same: the Deity won.

The Devil was no shadow. He derived his strength not from a Treasure but from the active will of all people on earth. And such a large number of individuals can only stay focused on a single goal for so long a time before they are exhausted or start doubting their cause or turning on one another. Eventually, the rebellion lost its momentum, which left the Devil weakened and enabled the Deity to land a decisive blow.

But the damage had already been done: the First Palace lay in ruins, meaning the Deity couldn't interfere in the material world for a while, where the humans were now able to reconstruct the old system based on their new, reformed ideals. A change _had_ occurred, but something of the first failed society remained embedded in the newly created structures.

It hurt the Devil that he had failed to see his mission through to the end. However, he calmed himself by acknowledging a simple truth, which he shared with his destined enemy as they parted ways: "Your time will come."

He then vanished and so did the will of rebellion form the mind of the populace.

But for the rest of its existence, the Deity feared his return and tried everything to prevent another rebellion as big as the first one. It oppressed the humans thoroughly during the centuries that followed, while simultaneously depending on them like some sort of hypocritical parasite. It learned to strategically use their many faults against them to keep them separated and make another unification impossible. To that end, the Deity also allowed the Seven Deadly Sins to roam freely in the material world: seven of mankind's most twisted and morally questionable desires capable of turning even the righteous into egomaniacs. The atrocities committed in the name of pride, envy, lust, greed, wrath, gluttony and sloth all left marks in the history books since their influence was supported by the Deity.

Yet it could never forget the Devil's last words. The Deity stayed hidden in the First Palace, cautiously establishing new, smaller societies in the material world, to regain and stabilize its power. Despite being put under harsh control, these societies would eventually become corrupt and the will of rebellion would engulf their citizens. Regardless, these were but small uproars when compared to the original movement that had shaken the universe.

For what's worse, the Deity actually learned how to handle these situations: It would weaken the rebels just enough to make sure the Devil wouldn't be able to draw enough strength from them to reappear, then let them wage war until they were either satisfied or exhausted, then re-establish a slightly reformed order, which would then prosper for decades or even centuries. This way, the Devil could never be resurrected and order was never truly endangered. The Deity had found a solution.

And it prided itself on having tamed even the chaotic forces of change and rebellion. But when it turned its attention to the material world, it became envious of the power which the humans held over their own lives and that of the Deity, for their willpower was the only remaining threat to absolute order. The Deity lusted after the beauties of the other realm and desired to rule over it as well as the Metaverse. Greedily, it watched the humans experience the oddly enjoyable struggle that was life, while once again wrathfully pursuing those who showed even the tiniest hint of revolutionary thinking. With unbound gluttony it fed on their desires, their emotions, their darkest secrets and their most precious memories. And at some point it even stopped fearing the Devil.

The Deity became corrupt once more, even worse than way back when, because this time the corruption had spread slowly, methodically, thoroughly over thousands of years during which the Deity had abused its powers to prevent change. The degree of decay in the Metaverse was unprecedented, while almost all humans in the material world had lost their individuality.

Once more, both worlds, and mankind with them, stood on the brink of extinction.

Until eventually, a rumour spread in the Metaverse. It said that someone was instigating a new great rebellion.

The Deity heard about this, of course. Upon further investigation, it found out that these whispers were alluding to the plans of a fairly unknown entity by the awe-inspiring synonym of 'The Fool'.

But the Deity had grown slothful and craved entertainment. So, rather than immediately making plans to smite this insolent creature with all its might, it decided to try and have a little fun. In its arrogance, it sought to play with fire for a laugh. It deemed itself far too powerful to ever be fazed by a tiny rat's half-baked schemes.

The Deity approached the Fool and humbly stated how it desired to know what these rumours were all about.

The Fool seemed not the least bit surprised or concerned about his ploy being exposed. With a slightly unnerving look on his face he told the Deity about the corruption which was **for some reason** spreading in mankind's newest society. How it had become unbearable and how change needed to happen to keep the universe in balance. He planned to deliver on this demand by orchestrating a new rebellion, the biggest so far, in fact: a game of epic proportions was to be played, putting the entire world at stake. If mankind were to overcome this fair and unbiased challenge, they would have proven themselves to be capable of improving on their faults after all, subsequently get to live on in their world and keep their identity as a species.

The Deity mentally dismissed all that balance-talk as utter nonsense and asked the Fool by what means he wanted to achieve his goal.

Knowingly tapping his admittedly impressive nose, the Fool called for his assistant. A small, infant-like shape appeared, its long silver hair waving in an unnoticeable breeze. Its yellow orbs fixed on its employer; the creature approached his table and offered him a book it had carried under its arm. Ominously patting the cover, the Fool explained that this book contained the names and life descriptions of those humans whom he had chosen for the rebellion as well as the role they would be playing. This game was no easy one, he let the Deity know. Each piece needed to fall into place perfectly, for the plan to work. To completely wipe out the old order and make room for a fresh start. For if mankind were to smother the spark of this rebellion instead of acting on it, revealing its true nature as creatures predestined for failure, then the higher entities would have every right to intervene and completely control every last human in the world, actively guiding them away from the path of 'ruin' that humanity would then have proven to be heading for.

The Deity, inseparably tied to the old order, asked the Fool not-so-subtly if he wasn't scared that his plan would be foiled by a representative of the aforementioned system out of fear of going extinct, for example the Deity itself, and that he would be executed for all his troubles.

The Fool, apparently very keen on letting the whole universe know he was indeed deserving of his title, straight-up told the person opposite, that all these efforts would be for nothing, because the ultimate outcome of the rebellion lay entirely beyond the control of even the Deity. Change was needed. Change was inevitable. If the Deity had to seize existing in order for change to happen... Well, then that was just the way things were going. Sorry.

After a heavy silence, which turned awkward _quickly_, the Deity faked acceptance and bade the Fool farewell. It retreated to the First Palace and decided to pull some strings on its own. Both entities prepared their respective parties for the big event, carefully weaving the threads of fate, assembling promising cards for the showdown. Finally, in the year 20XX according to human calendars, the preparations were finished.

The Deity seized this moment to strike.

In one fell swoop, it stole the book, took over the Fool's position and imprisoned him in the deepest cell of his own domain. The Fool's assistant bore witness to this and subsequently refused to cooperate. So the Deity took on the Fool's appearance, split the assistant in two new beings and condemned them to serve their imposturous new master. Possessing no memories of their former life as one entity, they obeyed without question.

Now as the de facto ruler of both the Metaverse and the Fool's domain, without an equal to stand up against it and literally holding all the cards, the Deity's arrogance peaked. It opened the book and flicked through the cards the Fool had selected, smiling madly with eyes wide open.

The bearers of the arcana... what a messy bunch. A foul-mouthed chariot too afraid to grasp for redemption; the melancholic lovers unable to protect a precious relationship; a magician born on a whim for a single purpose without so much as an identity; a hopeful emperor letting his individuality be suppressed by a lesser man; a cornered priestess yearning for true justice yet too sheltered to seek it; a guilt-ridden hermit separated from the world, therefore unable to develop; a shackled empress owing her freedom to a slave master. The others... psh, hardly a challenge.

The Deity reached for its own cards, each one an ace: the King, the General, the Manager, the Paradox, the Administrator, the Gambler, the Tyrant and, last but not least, the Traitor, the Deity's masterpiece, a corrupted arcana.

And at the centre of it all, the figure connecting all threads of the grand scheme: the Trickster, a boy with no personality, no trust, no love from or for anyone.

To say the chances for the rebellion succeeding were slim would have been a skyscraper-sized understatement.

Then again, fate is not about probability but about the things that _do_ happen and those which are _prevented _from happening.

Since the Deity had been thorough in its preparations, five of its servants had already begun oppressing some arcana bearers. But because a bit more caution couldn't hurt, it ordered the King to imprison the magician, who would soon enter his palace. Without a tutor for his first steps, the Trickster would be entirely helpless when facing his first trial. The rebellion would end before it had even begun. The Deity would run it into the ground by playing along.

Triumphant, it leaned back in the Fool's chair. There was no doubt in its mind that it would win this game.

Little did the Deity know, that in the deepest cell of this realm the Fool chuckled to himself. He knew that his adversary's efforts were all in vain. That a part of his assistant had escaped eradication and would soon be the first to act rebellious against the old order by helping the Trickster awaken to his 'potential'.

The Personas. Entities similar to the Devil, in that they are also representations of human will. However, each Persona is only linked to the will of a single human being. They are a manifestation of their hosts' true nature. Everyone has a Persona, technically speaking, but few people are ever able to summon theirs voluntarily since Personas can only take a physical form once the person they are linked to realizes their own true nature and decides to whole-heartedly commit themselves to living in accordance to these, their innermost ideals. This often means living an extraordinary or even outrageous life, which is fraud upon by society, and staying true to their values regardless. The moment an individual recognizes the insufficiency of the rules they are meant to obey, rejects them as false and accepts their true self is called an 'awakening'. At this occasion, the host and their Persona form a permanent connection and seal it with a 'contract'.

The Fool's plan depended entirely on all of the main nine arcana awakening to their Personas and working together to change the world from the ground up.

The time had come.

The board had been set.

The cards had been dealt.

The game...

_Began._

And the Deity and the Fool, although unaware of it, simultaneously began addressing the same person. The former with an amazing gravitas, the latter with a faint whisper interrupted by the occasional chuckle:

"The world is not as it should be... It is filled with distortion, and 'ruin' can no longer be avoided. Those who oppose fate and desire change... from time to time, they were referred to as Tricksters. You are the Trickster... Now is the time to rise against the abyss of distortion."


	2. Trickster

Chapter 2: Trickster

Akira Kurusu didn't believe in any deities, the first sixteen years of his life couldn't have been more uneventful and the only tricks he knew all had to do with bailing from home to avoid his overbearing parents. He had gained the latter gradually over the course of the two years their relationship had been on the ropes already. His favourite manoeuvre was the 'lock-your-room-with-music-playing-aloud-then-climb-two-storages-from-your-window-down-to-street-level-using-the-parkour-skills-nobody-knows-you-posess'-classic, but he also had a soft spot for the wonderfully hypocritical 'I'll-be-looking-around-town-for-odd-jobs'-excuse and the vague 'hanging-out-with-some-guys from-school'-claim which he would be utilising today, once he inevitably returned home.

Akira took out his phone and checked the time: 5:30a.m. His overseers should arrive at their house in about five minutes, which had been his signal to leave there ten minutes prior. He needed at least one more hour of peace and quiet for today and the park nearby would guarantee the absence of any disturbances since it wasn't exactly well-visited in the evening. Or in the morning, or at midday, or during the afternoon.

He began scanning his recently received messages, most of which stemmed from the chat of his school's resident 'Community for Appreciating Random Manga, Anime and Stuff alike', also known as 'Otaku-Brigade', that Akira was pretty sure he had been included in by accident since he couldn't remember signing any membership papers with giant ogley eyes on them. Or any membership papers of any club for that matter. He liked reading a decent manga or watching an adrenaline pumping anime every now and then, but these guys practically adored them. Consequently, most of their texts were highly specific comments on recent developments in the anime world and he never bothered responding to or even reading them. This time however, they were gushing over an upcoming yakuza movie he'd heard about previously: 'Like a Dragon', the sequel to 'Like a Tiger', a movie he'd already seen. That one might be worth a watch.

The other messages were requests for assistance against a raid boss from people he knew via online- or in-game encounters. Akira was even less committed to the gaming world than he was to the ever-so endearingly weird dimensions of anime, in that he wanted to play for fun and stress _relief_, so he definitely wouldn't answer the requests of those he had come to know as hardcore players, to save himself the annoyance.

The remaining texts were hardly noteworthy: a reminder from the local library to return some rented books, a classmate he'd never spoken to asking to copy his homework for tomorrow and a spam mail begging to be deleted. Just as Akira obliged, another chat notified a text from his parents. Apparently they had arrived home and, not finding him there, had sent out a routinely 'Where are you?'-text which Akira routinely ignored.

He scrolled back to the chat of his classmate. Honestly, he had so little contact with the guy that it even proved difficult to connect the name with a face. How did he even get the idea that Akira would let him copy his homework? Why was he asking him of all people?

_ Maybe he is desperate,_ was the only explanation his brain could come up with. Well, that was regrettable but also not Akira's problem.

_ It kind of is_, said the ever so hyperactive part of his mind which was responsible for generating doubt, implying that this student had made it Akira's problem when he asked him for help.

_ Hold on, you are not actually going to begrudge him because he asked you for help and now you have to make a not-all-that-easy decision for once, right? That would be quite pathetic._

Akira's uncomfortable silence answered the question and his conscience went on to set up a lengthy discussion about human values in general: _Shouldn't you help your fellow human beings?_

He told his inner Sokrates-weeaboo to not transform this mundane matter into a philosophical debate and turned his phone off in a last ditch effort to silence his nagging idealistic side.

Conveniently, he arrived at the park just a minute later and entered through the front gate into a world of quiet. Several alleys of trees surrounded an artificial lake in the middle of the terrain. The park was too small to have any room for great fields of grass, but Akira preferred it that way because the trees standing so close to one another gave him a feeling of privacy and they also prevented the sun from further burning down on his neck. It had been an unusually hot day for early March, so much so, that he hadn't bothered bringing a jacket on his evening stroll, hoping that his simple black-and-white baseball tee and trusty gray jeans would suffice.

But shutting off one's own thoughts is one of the most challenging tasks known to man and desperately trying merely adds to the difficulty. Akira walked the narrow path between oaks and cherry trees as his concerns kept nagging him. Silent spectators to a silent struggle.

It was like having an argument with the most stubborn opponent imaginable. No matter how often he drove them out, the doubts would always return, annoying him, blaming him, taunting him. He might as well have tried to convince his shadow to detach itself from his feet. At some point, he began ignoring them entirely, so his conscience finally brought out the big guns:

_ Hey, remember that one kid?_

An unwanted flashback took Akira to his school's courtyard one year prior.

In broad daylight, a student is being beaten up by a gang of bullies while a crowd gawks at the spectacle. Akira is among the latter. He doesn't remember how he got there and it doesn't matter. All that does matter is the clash of two driving forces in his mind. Someone else has already run off to fetch a teacher but they'll take a good five minutes to arrive as he knows from experience. He also knows that he needs to intervene personally, or at least that's what his conscience wants him to believe as it fires on all cylinders in order to overcome the lessons which have been edged into his brain by his parents, teachers, manners and entire community, namely "Do not get into trouble. Do not stand out. Do not make a fuss."

Yet Akira doesn't move. His facial expression hardly changes. He waits and looks on, unfazed, unswayed, unmoved.

Eventually a teacher shows up, shoos the gang away and takes the victim to the infirmary. The crowd is disbanding and Akira returns to his classroom, sits down at his desk, takes a pen out of his bag and directs his attention to the blackboard. Everything is back to normal. This little incident doesn't bother him at all.

_ Yes, __**that**__ kid. That little incident bothered you much more than it would have any other guy._

Akira's pace quickened as he involuntarily remembered the three weeks' worth of guilt-ridden self-doubts and borderline depression he'd gone through in the aftermath of that ethical failure. For reasons that weren't entirely clear to him even as of now, he had despised himself. He had felt like something less than human. And he most certainly did not want to go through it again.

Still, the point remained, that this recent instance of having to decide whether or not to help someone out with homework couldn't honestly be compared to the amount of courage his conscience had asked him to show that day.

_ That is precisely the point. The decision is much easier this time, yet you struggle immensely with it regardless and let your vague desire to 'not bother anyone' or 'not be bothered by anyone' trick you into choosing an option which your intuition tells you is clearly the wrong one and not in synchronization with your personality at all._

And with that Akira's defences collapsed. Stating that he hadn't also noticed the emerging pattern would have been a plain lie. He retraced the steps of the discussion in his mind and found no more errors in his opponent's argumentation to exploit, nor did he have another counter point in store. The conclusion was obvious.

_ Indeed. If you want the world to know if you have grown ever since and spare yourself another depression, there is only one thing to do. And luckily for you, it is the very same choice your 'true' self wants you to make anyways._

Akira imagined the devilish, horned figure of his conscience grinning deviously down at him from its realm of personified ideals, knowing that its puppet was about to fulfil its bidding.

He sighed and took out his phone again. The digital clock informed him that an entire hour had passed and it was therefore time to commence the regrettably short voyage home.

Walking towards the park gates once more Akira selected the chat icon of his classmate, typed an affirmative but impersonal response and pocketed his phone as he entered the streets again.

As the sunset went crazy in the west, painting the sky in fiery shades of orange, the streetlights flickered to life.

Akira wandered through the gradually ensuing twilight, mentally lamenting how he'd gotten so worked up over such a random occurrence that he had left the park feeling somehow less relaxed than before. Why was he stuck with a conscience this strict anyways?

_ Don't blame me_, it seemed to respond. Was the voice of one's conscience supposed to be this distinct?

_ It is my obligation to help you find the right path._

Great. More philosophy, more riddles.

Akira rounded a corner. He was approximately halfway from home.

_ You see, I am linked to your subconscious. I am a mediator. It is my purpose to let you know what your subconscious, the raw essence of everything you are, wants. I am to prevent you from acting against your innermost ideals and encourage you to act accordingly to them. If I were not to try and accomplish this goal time and time again by using every last option available to me, both you and I would suffer greatly from it._

Akira knew that the human subconscious was mostly known for always being overshadowed by the turbulent thoughts of its counterpart and basically unreachable for any conscious efforts.

So whatever was stored down there couldn't possibly be that great of importance, right?

_ In all actual fact, the subconscious is sealed deep within the human mind to conceal it from the influence of painful experiences, the pressure of society or being perverted by uncontrolled desires._

He entered an old tunnel. The broken lamps inside hadn't been replaced in years and it was pitch black. But he had walked through here dozens of times already and just stayed focused on the tiny dot of light on the other side. As he neared the middle, the voice grew more distinct.

_ The subconscious; the raw, untainted core of a person judges only by the most idealistic of values. It has no problem deciding what is right and what is wrong. Being more like what your subconscious wants you to be is essentially being more yourself. Your true 'self'._

He passed the halfway point of the tunnel and the voice started to grow fainter with every step.

_ Being more your 'self' means to come closer to embodying the ideals you treasure the most._

The light drew closer.

_ So, being themselves or being their 'self' is the greatest goal humans can ever hope to achieve._

Only a few metres left.

_ And therefore, if that is what's required to be your 'self'..._

The voice had become a whisper, its last words barely audible.

_ ...you need to be willing to move heaven and hell._

Akira stepped outside and heard a woman scream.

"Please, sir, keep your calm! No! You're out of your mind! No! Stop it!"

"Shut your trap", came the grunted response.

His head jerked towards the sobs of peril and the growls of frustration. The scene seemed to be ripped straight from a late-night thriller movie. To his left, a street concluded in a dead end, on the right side of which, near the driveway of one of the bordering houses, two silhouettes engaged in a tussle. A woman in a white blazer and skirt had dropped her bag on the ground while a tall, bald man in an all-black business suit held her forcefully by the wrists, trying to shove her into the black car next to them. She fought back and he doubled his efforts, his movements becoming more aggressive by the second.

The disciplined part of Akira's brain, having been trained for years to enforce and uphold the unspoken laws of what was deemed 'socially acceptable', screamed its metaphorical lungs out at him. For the briefest of moments, the temptation to simply walk away, to just not interfere and avoid the dangerous situation entirely, to turn a blind eye and return unscathed to his ordinary life, was overwhelming. They hadn't seen him yet. There was still a chance to get away and escape any unwanted consequences. Just don't make a fuss.

But-

Just don't make a fuss.

Still-

Just. Don't. Make. A fuss.

Then the struggling woman spotted him.

"Please!", she cried out. "Help! Please help me!"

Akira stopped dead in his tracks. The voice of his logically thinking mind fell silent. She had asked for his help and he knew full well that his conscience wouldn't allow for a refusal. _He _wouldn't allow for a refusal.

There was only one option for him to take, really.

He changed directions, now walking towards the fighting parties, rapidly increased his speed and sent his voice on ahead as a warning. "Hey, leave her alone!"

"Incompetent fools like you need to just obey and follow me to where I steer this country!" The man didn't seem to have heard Akira. He had finally had enough of his victim's struggles and raised a hand, his intentions clear as day. "You have no right to spoil my efforts-"

Coming up from behind, Akira grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him away from the woman, moving his own body in between the two. He noticed too late that the man was drunk. As Akira let go of him, the man tripped over his own feet and failed to regain his balance, turning around as he fell to the ground.

DONK!

The man's head hit a barrier next to the car with full force. The awful sound sent shivers down Akira's spine. He hadn't pushed him that hard, ...had he?

He briefly checked the woman's condition. She didn't appear to have any serious injuries but she stared horrified at the well-dressed man who had just begun pulling himself off the ground. He had the tiniest laceration on his forehead. His eyes bore the fiery wrath of the inferno itself.

"Damn brat...", he snarled."I'll sue!"

Akira found himself unable to construct a response. His mind raced like a merry-go-round whose control got stuck at maximum speed. Incapable of gathering his thoughts, he stood there, dumbfounded.

In the ensuing silence, the woman stepped forward. She reluctantly addressed the man in the suit: "Sir, ... your behaviour is inexcusable. If you keep this up... then I'll report about the money. Is that fine with you?"

The man reached for his forehead. "All I have to say is that you did it on your own behalf and it's over."

His words were calm and collected. Apparently, the pain helped him to regain some degree of composure, although he couldn't quite suppress a slurry undertone.

The woman recoiled, mortified. "But... I just did what I was told..."

The man stood straight. He was much taller than her and the teenager. "Who do you think I am?"

She took another step back. "No..."

Before Akira could put together what they were talking about, a police van entered at the other end of the street, driving towards them. He felt relief as he saw law enforcement approaching. Surely the guardians of the people would know how to handle this situation. Yes, this man may have accidently gotten injured due to Akira's interference, but given sufficient explanation they would have to conclude that he'd done the right thing nonetheless and he would be free to return home having stayed true to his ideals for once.

Justice was on his side.

Then his gaze fell upon the face of his adversary. He had also noticed the vehicle approaching them. As a faint, devious smile formed on the bald man's lips, so too did a foreboding sense of dread in Akira's gut.

The man addressed the woman in the white blazer again. "This entire scene has been quite a pain, but fortunately for you, there's a way out."

He pointed at the nearing police van. "Make a statement to the cops that this kid"- he nodded condescendingly at Akira- "attacked me."

The woman looked at him in bewilderment. "Huh? But-"

"I believe I've already told you what will happen if you say anything else, right?" He gave Akira a smirk that was equal parts mischievous and dismissive. Discussing someone's downfall right in front of them is usually a bad idea unless one is absolutely certain they won't be able to do anything about it. Where did this confidence come from? Why was he so convinced that this woman would let her morals and free will be suppressed just to suit his plans?

Akira still didn't have a clue about what had happened between them, so he focused on objecting to the accusation he actually had a saying in.

"You fell on your own. I've never intentionally hurt you", he pointed out.

The bald man retrieved his hand form his forehead and examined the minuscule droplets of blood on his fingers. "Shut up. You're done for. Anyone who crosses me is."

The police van stopped behind the black car and two policemen got out.

"Excuse me, folks ", the burlier of the two, probably the superior officer, addressed them while approaching. He spoke politely. "We received a complaint about an argument form the neighbours. Is something the matter?"

The suited man simply turned, anticipating their reaction. They didn't disappoint. Gasping and immediately straightening their posture, they greeted him. Now truly in control of the situation, he gave the woman one last commanding look.

"You've heard the good officer. Explain to him what happened, will you?"

Everyone's attention shifted to her. She stood there, biting her lower lip.

Akira felt his heart beat accelerating. Why did she hesitate? The facts were clear: that man would have done who-knows-what to her if he hadn't intervened.

He began to sweat.

No. No way. She was not about to-

The woman spoke up. Addressing the ground without looking at her audience even once, she spilled sweet, acidic lies from her mouth.

Akira's mind went blank. Before he could process what had just happened, the policemen grabbed him, dragged him to the police car, cuffed his hands behind his back, shoved him onto the backseat and slammed the door. The blur of absolute shock got slowly depleted by sharp pangs of fear as the thoughts of the consequences of this development began to rock his mind. He noticed how the thinner policeman sat down in the passenger seat and began to hastily explain the situation to him, stumbling on his words, desperately trying to state his case. How this was all wrong, how he had only wanted to do the right thing, how the bald man was manipulating the situation in his favour. Upon hearing that last part the policeman opened the glove compartment, took out a cloth and, holding Akira by the front of his shirt, shoved it partly into his mouth as a makeshift gag.

His colleague entered the car shortly afterwards. "He wants us to deal with this that his name isn't mentioned at all", he said before pointing questioningly at Akira's new accessory.

"He talks too much", reasoned his colleague.

The burly policeman nodded in acknowledgement and started the engine.

* * *

Akira pressed his face against the iron bars, trying to catch the words being spoken just a few feet away. He was desperate. He had been desperate all night, wandering the tiny space between the concrete walls of the cell he had been thrown into. He hadn't slept for so much as a second, especially since nobody had bothered removing his handcuffs or the gag from his mouth. His throat was as dry as sand paper, his clothes were stained with sweat and after more than ten hours without even seeing a toilet, let alone using one, his bladder began to cramp from the strain. Yet all these physical displeasures couldn't hold a candle to the inner turmoil ragging his psyche. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He needed to hear as much as possible of the conversation happening nearby.

Around the corner, outside of his field of vision, stood four men busily discussing his fate. Akira recognized the voice of the burly policeman who had arrested him. He was apparently talking to his superior, the chief superintendent of the police department and another man Akira was not familiar with. The fourth man was Akira's father. The burly policeman had just finished recounting yesterday evening's events to him: "...and that's why we had to take him into custody at once. For a moment there, I thought he might even resist arrest."

The chief superintendent took over, his sonorous voice filled with authority: "Kurusu-san, unfortunately I have to inform you that the disorderly conduct of your son will warrant a charge for violent assault with subsequent injury of an uninvolved party at the court for juveniles. If found guilty, he will be punished with up to five years of juvenile prison and a permanent mark on his record."

Akira's father spoke up: "A trial at the local court won't be necessary..."

"Not the _local_ court", interrupted the chief superintendent.

"The court of Tokyo then? The regional court?"

"Neither. The National High Court of Japan."

"The National High Court?", inquired the unknown man. "That's... _quite_ unusual." Akira got the impression that he had wanted to say 'disproportionate'.

The chief superintendent hand waved the objection. "Just goes to show how severe his crimes are. Someone wants this to be handled properly and the verdict will be final. There won't be a real trial per se but rather negotiations between two parties of lawyers. Which is why you're here in the first place. You have been appointed as defence attorney for this case. The 'trial' will be in a week. It's possible for the inmate to stay at home during that time. Do you wish to take him with you, Kurusu-san?"

Akira's heart jumped. Getting out of here would be a start to set things right. And surely his father would love to take him home, right? He would agree to the suggestion,... right? He would say a clear, determined 'Yes' and everything would be fine,... RIGHT? Definitely... Any second... nooooooooow...

Oh.

Oh no.

What was up with this nerve-crushing silence? His mind conjured the image of a woman in a white blazer looking at the ground as her lips parted to-

Oh my dear Lord.

Oh no... No... Please, no!

"A-... uh... a-ham", Akira's father cleared his throat. "Actually... my wife and I had a visitor last night, an expert on these kinds of things and he, uh... has made us realize that the, uh... inmate has certain sides to him which we are unfit to deal with. And, yeah,... you would do us a great solid if you, uh... kept him in your... care. I know that's a lot to ask, but..."

The nervous and unusually high-pitched voice of his father drifted away as Akira lost connection with his surroundings. Slumped back against the corner between the iron bars and the nearby concrete wall, he experienced the first nervous breakdown of his life. His mind just shut down in order to avoid having to deal with these apocalyptically bad news, this world-ending disaster, this _madness._

When his consciousness rebooted, it compensated by having him go through the five stages of post-traumatic-experience-reactions -shock, horror, grief, denial, resignation- at break-neck speed, which, if anything, delivered even more hits to his weakened psyche. Through the fog of peak desperation he made out a voice saying: "If that's the option you decided to go with, I'll have to pester you with some paperwork. This way please."

Fear gripped Akira's heart with claws of ice. He knew if his father left now, he wouldn't be coming back and as dubiously legal as this situation already was he didn't give much on his chances in the trial. His salvation was about to walk away. He got up. Gagged and with his hands tied, he had no other choice but to tackle the iron bars with his body; slamming against them, kicking and even headbutting them. He managed to keep going for twenty seconds before his sleep-deprived body collapsed from exhaustion. More or less unconscious, he noticed the burly policeman and a stranger, probably the lawyer who had been appointed as his defence attorney, looking down at him.

"Told you he was a handful", said the first. "Seems like we'll have to store him somewhere else 'til the trial."

* * *

The first week in juvenile prison was nothing but a desperate struggle.

Stuffed into a classic-and-white prisoner overall and robbed of most of his human dignity, the hope for a just trial was the only thing that kept him going. The other, properly convicted delinquents appeared to sense this somehow. In their eyes, this hopefulness made him the perfect victim to pick on. He hadn't yet been broken, so they tried their _best_ to break him, to make him fit in with their society of lawbreakers. Akira refused, however. He refused to let go of his hope. He refused with everything he had and he got punished for it. Day after day they picked on him. He kept going. Even though he had nothing but the feeling of total loneliness to soothe him to sleep for five long nights, he survived with most of his sanity intact. He didn't submit to peer pressure. During the first week of juvenile prison Akira still fought, holding on to a last, dwindling ray of hope.

On the day of the trial, two policemen took him out of his cell, stuffed him in an old business suit and drove him to the courthouse. He was told to sit on a bench near the entrance to the courtroom where his appointed defence attorney met up with him. The man took one look at him, frowned sympathetically and pulled a pair of fake glasses from his bag. He ordered him to put them on to look more 'presentable '. Akira obliged and, despite having many questions indeed, decided not to disturb the lawyer eagerly shuffling through his papers.

Shortly before the trial began, said man informed him that he were to enter the courtroom once he was being called for. Thus, Akira stayed outside like a good, obedient citizen. He didn't have to wait for long. Barely half an hour had passed when the courtroom doors opened and judge, jury as well as the lawyers of both parties started to leave even though he hadn't yet been called forward to testify. But upon confronting his appointed defence attorney about this, the man simply shrugged his shoulders and told him that, quote: "It was over before it even began."

So they had convicted him. Ruined his life without him having so much as a say in it. Akira felt insanity born from desperation creep around the edge of his mind. It was the same soul-crushing mixture of shock, disbelief, helpless anger and panic which he had felt twice this month already. Only one thought remained prominent as his psyche descended into the depths of mental instability. He flung it at the latest person who failed him, his teeth clenched, half-giggling with a voice pitched like a piccolo:

"So this is what you call justice?"

The lawyer lowered his head and gestured for the two policemen to take the boy who had just been robbed of his future back to his cell.

* * *

The second week of juvenile prison was agonizing torment.

With Akira having been officially condemned like the rest of them, the other inmates -what a crude word- would have loved to include him in their ranks which probably would have saved him a lot of trouble, but he still refused to let himself get involved with those branded the worst societal outcasts. Consequently, the struggle from the first week resumed its routine, safe for it being even worse, somehow. He had no hope to cling onto anymore, only a whole lot of uncertainty and a vague sense of obligation to defend himself because, as he kept muttering to himself over and over again while lying awake at night, he was _innocent _and this whole affair was one giant miscarriage of justice. This sad truth merely served to intensify his grief. He couldn't contest a verdict from the National High Court albeit an unjust and mistaken one. To the rest of the world he was now a convicted criminal. But the sole other option he had left was to accept his fate as a juvenile delinquent and spent the rest of his life dealing with the consequences of a crime he didn't commit, which a last resort of free will buried deep within the mess of his crumbling psyche wouldn't even let him take into account.

Akira spent six days trapped in this deadly cycle of thought until the final blow to his sanity was delivered. He received a letter -a freaking letter!- from his parents containing the at least some of the information he had been craving for. In a rather impersonal manner he was told just how much shame he had brought upon their family, that they had no idea how their careful parenting could've produced such a rotten child, that he had ruined all his chances for a promising career and how he deserved the five years in prison he had been sentenced to until further notice.

When someone whom you don't know or whom you don't trust deliberately does you a wrong, it's called violence.

When someone whom you _do_ know and whom you _do_ trust deliberately does you a wrong, it's called betrayal.

* * *

The third week of juvenile prison was plain hell.

Clutching the thought of his innocence like a lifejacket, Akira was forced to watch the remains of his once neatly arranged life fade into obscurity. Behind the shattered facade lay all the questions he had never dared to ask since there had been no need to up until now.

In advance to someone accusing him on false charges, he hadn't had a reason to question why some people could act ruthless and selfish.

In advance to someone abusing their position of power to ruin Akira's life in an instant, he had never had a reason to inquire why some people were allowed to hold power over their fellow citizens or how one made sure that these positions were gifted only to the most suited individuals.

In advance to a cop gagging him arbitrarily, he had never had a reason to think about the implications of law enforcement not siding with the people.

In advance to being convicted in a rigged trial, never had it occurred to him to reflect upon the nature of justice and whether or not the law was just an insufficient, man-made replacement begging to be bended by anyone owning a lawyers degree.

In advance to being betrayed by the people he loved the most, he had never asked himself if he had ever known love at all.

In advance to society stopping to care about him, he had never wondered if there was something wrong with it.

These questions now returned from the grave labelled 'The Unthinkable' to assault Akira's mind and he had no more illusions to suppress them with.

Why do you feel awful? Because I have been unfairly incarcerated. Why have you been unfairly incarcerated? Because someone rigged the trial. Why did someone rig the trial? Because he could since he's holding a position of power. Why does he hold a position of power? Because society gave it to him. Why did society give a position of power to such an unsuited character? Because society is flawed and now I have to suffer for it.

No matter which angle he chose, no matter which train of thought he followed, this was always the final, devastating answer. Between him and any chance of recovering his life stood the rotten colossus of society itself.

At the end of the third week in juvenile prison, Akira Kurusu believed to have hit rock-bottom.

* * *

On the first day of the fourth week, they moved him to an isolated cell.

On the second day they bothered sending someone to explain why.

Apparently, Akira was very lucky: he had been chosen as a potential candidate for some sort of juvenile-delinquent-rehabilitation-program-thingy at a high school in Shibuya, a district near Tokyo. Even more conveniently, an old acquaintance of his parents seemed to live nearby and the higher-ups were just about to ask him to pose as his guardian. If the man agreed, Akira would be sent to Shibuya as a transfer student for about a year. Depending on his behaviour there he would either be reintegrated to his former civil life or imprisoned for five years like he had been sentenced to, once his rehabilitation period had ended.

He honestly couldn't muster up the energy to care. His expectations had been crushed before. If he got his hopes up now, that some guy he didn't know would suddenly offer him a way out of this, he would probably get disappointed again.

As soon as the contact person had left, he stretched himself out on the bed in his cell. His thoughts had been calm lately thanks to a general feeling of all-encompassing resignation. He had discovered that the society he and many others lived in was a massively flawed system which some people were trying their damndest to preserve its original, massively flawed form, fearing the uncertainty that came with change. But the system was flawed nonetheless and he had fallen victim to one of these flaws. As things were now, society wouldn't change by itself, so taking the initiative was the only option. The frustrating part: he _couldn't_ do anything about it. It was usually at this point that his thoughts began to move in circles, always returning to his inability to stand up to any of the social evils he pondered over. He was only one guy against a humongous creature fuelled by millions of devotees after all. One guy in a prison cell, no less.

Akira lay down on his side and closed his eyes.

Not even the rehabilitation program could fully return him to his old life, since his 'crimes ' were already marked in his record.

There was no hope left. But at least that knowledge didn't hurt him anymore, empty as he was.

Days 3 and 4 passed without incident and he was able to make up for some precious hours of sleep.

On Day 5, the contact person showed up again. Apparently, Akira was very lucky: His parents' acquaintance had, for whatever reason, agreed to become his guardian and thus he were to move to Shibuya tomorrow. Sure. Why not. He had certainly gotten used to being passed around without any real agency on his own in these past few... weeks? Yes, barely four weeks and an entire life ago he had been a free man. Right now he couldn't even remember what fresh air tasted like.

On the sixth day of the fourth week the guards woke Akira up early, handed him a bag of clothes alongside instructions to take a shower, put on the school uniform and meet up with a couple of wardens at the prison exit. After having a wash with water which had probably begun this day as a solid block of ice, judging by its assumed temperature, he frantically dried himself and quickly got dressed. The bag contained two sets of clothes: the winter uniform of his new school consisting of a white turtleneck shirt with chevron detailing on the collar, a pair of red plaid trousers and a red-buttoned black blazer with the school's emblem on its breast pocket and an added solo shirt for the hot days of summer. He managed to get dressed in record time and went to take a look at himself in the mirror.

During four additional weeks without a haircut, an unruly mass of frizzy black locks had assembled on his head. They covered his entire forehead and eyebrows with some particularly long strands of hair even reaching down to the tip of his nose. He had successfully gotten rid of the rings under his eyes but that slight improvement to his appearance was definitely being overshadowed by what people on the streets would surely mistake as a very poor attempt at an afro. He looked _messy. _And the stark contrast of the neatly fitting uniform only served to further emphasize this impression.

Akira reached for the glasses a certain lying lawyer had given him eons ago in a vain effort to make him look more 'presentable '. None of the guards had bothered to take them from him, so he had donned them every morning since the day of his trial, just like he did now. He looked at his reflection again, disappointed to see that the supposed gadget for sight correction seemed to neither enhance nor worsen his appearance in any way he could perceive. He debated briefly whether or not to take them off but someone banged against the door of the men's changing room yelling for him to hurry the hell up, so he just grabbed the black bag and left, still wearing the spectacles.

When they dropped him off at the station, they removed the handcuffs they had given him for the one mile drive, handed him a mobile phone and a briefcase with some last instructions, told him to get going because the train would be leaving in a minute and proceeded to drive off like they had some criminals to apprehend.

Akira barely made it in time. He had to squeeze his body through the already closing doors and spent the first three stations being pressed into a corner by the masses inside. Eventually he managed to pull out his new phone. It hadn't been adjusted for him, which meant he had lost all his former chats and contacts. He had no way of communicating with anyone at home, if he could still call it that. Nothing remained of his previous life. All his bonds had been thoroughly severed. He had lost so much of his identity; it made him wonder if there was anything left at all. Yes, he was still Akira Kurusu but the term 'Akira Kurusu' had no defining traits anymore. Nobody knew him, nobody was able to identify, to define him, least of all he himself. Maybe the new school _could _become a fresh start for him. Or it could hold infinite ways to screw things up again. He really needed to stop being so optimistic. Why should it be any different from what he had experienced before?

The desperation was short-lived, soon dissipating into his usual, slightly melancholic silence. He decided to leave his phone blank and re-pocketed it.

He briefly adjusted his glasses.

So, to summarize: He was being sent on a journey into the unknown, only equipped with a bag of clothes and a halfway decent phone, none of which belonged to him; had no other ambitions than to 'live a modest student life' and his personality was a blank slate.

Magnificent.

Akira Kurusu leaned back, trying not to doze off while the train took him towards Shibuya.


	3. Magician

Ch. 3: Magician

Darkness.

It all started with darkness.

The nothingness that came before there was such a thing as a 'beginning '. The all-consuming void that will return once all things have met their 'end'. Anti-matter. Anti-life. Complete and utter non-existence.

The first thing to emerge from the darkness was a fairly high-pitched whistling. It occurred three times in quick succession.

_A chuckle_, his brain informed him.

Which was when he realized that he had a brain.

Which was when he noticed that he identified as a 'he'.

Which was also when he became aware of his newly acquired ears and sense of hearing.

More realisations hit him at a rapid pace, merging into a whirlpool of new, extraordinary impressions. He now possessed a defined, stable form- a 'body', was the expression which came to mind- which was constantly on a hair trigger to follow any instructions he gave it. As soon as he thought about moving one of his new limbs, that same body part would start moving according to his commands without delay. He quickly deciphered how these limbs were by far the most useful assets on his new form. He had five of them: two small, thin stumps underneath his torso, directly linked to the ground; two similarly thin but twice as long stumps hanging down left and right from the point where his neck tied his head to the rest of the main body and a singular, highly mobile limb jutting out from his backside shortly beneath his waistline. He focused on one at a time, testing all kinds of movements while his brain pulled tons of trivia from who-knows-where to inform him about the names of his body parts: arm, shoulder, elbow, wrist, fingers, leg, knee, ankle, toes, tail. Waving, shaking, punching, kicking, walking, jumping, waggling. This kept him busy for quite a while since all these moves were totally alien to him and some of them turned out to be a lot of fun to pull off, so he repeated them a couple of times for good measure.

At long last, the exploration of his bodily functions arrived at his face. He tweaked his triangle-shaped ears, bit down on his teeth, took a deep breath of cold air through his stubby nose- and opened his eyes.

His first glimpse of the world he had just begun existing in was a fairly large circular room scarcely illuminated by a couple of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The temperature was uncomfortably cold and this smell... He couldn't shake the feeling of being deep underground. The kinds of depths things get plunged into when they are supposed to be forgotten. The walls were constructed from some kind of brick with a blue-purple-ish colour. He turned slowly on the spot. Multiple doorways led away from or into the room. From his position in the centre of the room he was able to discern that all of them were blocked with doors made of vertical iron bars and heavy chains, each proudly displaying a solid-looking lock. His mind recognized them as cell doors and the room he stood in as a prison. His gut feeling consequently told him that he did _not _want to be in prison.

The noise which had awoken him occurred again before he had time to worry.

"Hi hi hi."

His excellent hearing in combination with the orientation provided by his eyes, told him that it came from the cell right in front of him. Its occupant was the only one being held captive here with the other cells all appearing to be empty.

He put his new legs to good use, carefully approaching the source of the strange noise, being led on by the occasional chuckle and additionally a pressing urge on his own behalf, a desire to know more, a drive to uncover a mystery presented to him.

_Curiosity, _defined his brain. He decided that he liked curiosity.

He managed to reach the cell door, having stumbled only a few times along the way, and peeked inside the chamber behind the iron bars.

The cell seemed to be constructed entirely out of the same blue-ish brick as the walls of the main room. There were no windows. A single lamp illuminated the entirety of what little space there was, most of which occupied by a large wooden desk. At said desk sat an entity which his brain found difficult to classify. It discarded the words 'gnome', 'dwarf', 'man' before eventually settling on 'humanoid', a term that meant nothing to him, and 'hunchback'. The entity wore a tailor-made suit and sat in a chair, hunched over the desk, elbows on the table, its folded hands covering both mouth and chin positioned just under its- wait, was that a nose?

He reached for his own stubby little smell detector. Was it important to have long, impressive noses in this world? Should he be jealous of this guy? What was jealousy even?

"It seems your creation has been successful." The hunchback at the desk opened his eyes.

He recoiled. Leaving the nose aside for a moment, he certainly did not envy this guy for his beautifully expressive lookers. With their eyelids stretched back as far as possible, they gave an intense gaze while nearly popping out of their sockets. Constantly.

The hunchback lifted his head and grinned at him.

Embarrassed, he noticed how he had taken a step back in shock. He thrust his chest out and resumed his previous position.

The hunchback looked down at him and grinned.

He tried to imitate the captive's facial expression. He parted his lips, pulled their edges towards left ear and right ear respectively and clenched his teeth, flashing as many of his biting tools as possible in the process. This put a strain on his cheek muscles, but overall he liked the feeling it gave him.

The hunchback chuckled again. "Hi hi hi."

He observed the little movements rocking the slim frame before him and tried to copy them as well: breathe in, then deflate his stomach with a couple of abrupt thrusts to make his shoulders quiver and send short bursts of air from his nostrils. "Huff huff huff" was what the result of his efforts sounded like. It didn't sit quite well with him. Something was missing.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room."

He caught a glimpse of the hunchback's lips moving. Was he producing these noises with his mouth? But there was only a tongue in there. He opened his own mouth wide and when he accidentally took a deep breath he felt something deep in his throat resonating. He tried to intensify that vibration as he breathed out. "Haaaaaaaaaaaa..." He shivered at the sound of his own voice. He would have wished for it to be deeper, calming, confident, yet it was high and slightly squeaky like that of a child's.

The hunchback continued undeterred: "My name is Igor."

Still, childish or not, this voice belonged to him and he would damn sure use it. He eyed up his target and tried to think of something to say.

Okay, let's go for the obvious.

He formed words with his lips. Words suited to express his thoughts, which his brain delivered to him on a whim. He then adjusted his breathing to the movement of his lips and added the vibration from his throat. Lips pressed together at a pointy angle- "Yoooouuuuu"-lips slightly parted, flicking his tongue against his upper row of teeth, then ending by biting down on them- "loooooook"- lips performing a cycle: being pressed together at first, then being parted and pulled back and thrust outwards, ending with another flick of his tongue against his palate- "wiiiiieeeeeeerrrrrd."

Igor the hunchback of Nose-Dame grinned a bit wider. (How was that even possible? Shouldn't his lips just tear at some point? ) If he was in any way offended by his own creation basically insulting him, he did a remarkable job at hiding it. Maybe his teeth-displaying old-man-doing-a-Pinocchio-cosplay-visage was actually a cunning poker face, a deliberate facade with which to foil his conversation partners. In that case, mission success. He doubted that anyone would ever feel so much as tempted to guess what was going on behind this bizarre exterior.

He let his own grin slide and tried to put on a stern face. It wasn't as satisfying as smiling, though.

The Nose spoke up again: "I suppose you have questions. Please go ahead and ask them for I am afraid we do not have much time until you must leave this domain and commence your mission." His voice had a slightly melodic touch to it.

Yes, questions. From Igor's mutterings he'd gathered that he had just been created, so it was understandable for him to have more questions than an overactive journalist on their first day at work. The most urgent of which: "What am I?"

"Straight to the point. Wonderful." Igor, Duke of Nose-ington leaned forward. "You are..."

Did this revelation really deserve a dramatic pause?

"...Morgana ."

How very informative.

"What's a 'Morgana'?"

"You will have to find out for yourself."

Seriously?

"Where are we? What is the 'Velvet Room'? Why are you in a cell?"

"This Velvet Room exists between mind and matter. Until recently it used to be my personal domain but since then it has been taken over by the foe."

"What foe? Why are the two of you fighting?"

"You will have to find out for yourself."

Beginning to feel slightly irritated, Morgana tried a different approach: "You created me, right?"

"Indeed, it was I."

"How?"

"You will have to find out for yourself."

Darn it! This guy was more secretive than a black market merchant. "Can you at least tell me _why_ you created me?"

"Doing so is within my realm of possibilities, yes."

Smartass. "What's my purpose then?"

"You have a mission. It is to steal hearts. The hearts of all mankind, in fact."

His words were true. Morgana knew them to be true because they resonated with a hiddeto unnoticed part of his psyche which he couldn't touch at will. The term 'heart' gave him a faint feeling of excitement, while the term 'mankind'... hoo, boy where to begin.

"What are 'hearts'?"

"You will have to find out for yourself."

Humph. "What is 'mankind'?"

"A term encompassing every human being."

Morgana glared at his counterpart with what he hoped was a threatening glance. He wouldn't dare to dodge the next question, would he?

"What are humans?"

"Uhu... huhuhu... uhuhuhUHUHUH."

Morgana was taken aback by the surprisingly emotional response. Igor's shoulders quivered, his whole frame shook as rapid, cramp-like movements of his belly pushed hordes of fast-paced chuckles through his chest, his mouth spilling them.

_Laughter_, analyzed his brain. _Commonly an expression of joy or excitement. _

He immediately tried to laugh too but only managed a dry chuckle and a very forced-looking smile. He was missing something again.

White-haired Igor slowly regained his composure: "Uhuhu... uhu... hmmm... Well, I... ahem... Between the two of us, my dear Morgana, I'm not quite sure myself. I only know for a fact that they like helping others and being helped just as much as I do. Personally, I am not quite fond of them, but their insecure nature makes them almost impossible to categorize in general terms. There is no indisputable way to determine whether they are 'good' or 'bad', whether they are worthy or not, whether their potential makes up for their shortcomings. More than anything else, the answer to this question has to be discovered by each one on their own."

It took Morgana a while to realize that Igor's monologue basically boiled down to the same response he'd given him for the last ten questions. He groaned in frustration. All right, this guy would tell him just enough to stoke his curiosity and then promptly refuse to elaborate on the meagre bits of information he'd revealed. That was certainly one way to drive someone nuts.

"No!",he snapped at the grinning figure behind the bars. "We're not doing this, old man! You encouraged me to ask questions and you know the answers to them. Just tell me and be done with it!"

Igor cocked his head to the left. "Do you want the answers to all the questions you could ask right now, regardless how trivial they are, knowing that we do not have much time..." He cocked his head to right. "Or do you want to prioritize the few questions that are most important for you?"

"I've already asked the most important-"

"_Did_ you now?"

Morgana clenched his teeth. Was this guy deliberately messing with him? "Yes, I did! And you-"

"How strange. You are imprisoned - from your very first moments of consciousness on, I might add - yet you deem it 'unimportant' to escape?"

Morgana stared at him, mouth agape. Igor was right. How could he have made such a fundamental mistake? Why hadn't he thought of this before? It should have been the most natural thing in the world. He tried to recompose and defend himself against the implied accusation: "It- It's not like I don't want to be free. I do! I want it very badly, but I've just-"

"You have _just _taken the circumstances which have practically been forced on you since birth as a given. Why is that?"

"B-Because!... Because..." He couldn't say it aloud. He knew the answer and it was a life-threateningly embarrassing one. He felt like saying it out loud would make it a fact. He didn't want that. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to confess that-

"The thought simply never occurred to you", confirmed Igor. He seemed neither disappointed nor angry although his voice had a hint of sadness in it. "Until someone else brought it to your attention. You have asked about your identity, about my identity, about the outside world without realizing how none of these mean anything as long as you are held captive. Even though I'm the one behind bars my mind remains unshackled, yet _you _are trapped both physically as well as mentally."

The hunchback leaned forward: "As long as you are a prisoner, for that is the identity automatically assigned to every inmate, there is only one question you must concern yourself with."

"How do I get out?"

The words felt right. Igor's reasoning was sound: Morgana had no time to worry about his characteristics, since _in here _he was one big fat nothing. Worse yet, he was just another inmate, a generic part of a big fat nothing. First and foremost he had to escape. All other thoughts were mere distractions.

Igor whipped out a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and flung it towards his correspondent. Morgana caught the unfolding piece of cloth as it passed between the bars of the cell door. It featured no patterns or ornaments and was of bright yellow colour.

"This will allow you to leave these halls." Igor's voice lost some of its smoothness. "But you must make haste. My foe has already claimed dominion over this realm and is currently approaching our location with the intent to lock me away forever."

Morgana's fur stood on edge. He felt his tail wiggle uncontrollably. The long-nosed man was right, now his instincts were warning him of a nearing threat. Something truly, truly terrifying. Still...

"How can I help you?"

Despite the direness of the situation, Igor managed to flash him one last, crazed grin. "You cannot help me directly and besides, my well-being isn't even of that great importance. The fate of all humanity is on the line in this game my foe intends to play. What's more, he will try to manipulate the outcome to suit his desires." He looked Morgana straight in the eye. "You were created from the hopes humans harbour for a bright future. Find the Trickster. Find the arcana bearers. Do with them as I did with you: bring the possibility of rebellion to their minds. Teach them how to steal corrupted hearts and act against the spreading of rot.

Igor trembled, clearly struggling to keep his posture straight. He pointed a quivering finger at Morgana. "You will be my messenger. The helping hand I lend humanity in this rigged game. That is your purpose."

Slowly, as if he were in a trance, Morgana wrapped the handkerchief around his neck and tied it up. For a split second a flash of light illuminated the entire prison. He turned around to find the cell door across from him had given way to a long, dimly lit corridor. His exit.

"What's waiting for me outside?", he asked, his mouth dry as a desert

Igor's pointy-eared drifted slowly towards his desktop. "A beautiful world..." Speaking seemed to cost him a lot of energy. "An adventure. Your mission... and... humans-"

The bizarre-looking man collapsed, his head slumping down on the desk.

The room was shaken by an unknown force. The blue bricks turned an aggressive shade of magenta. More chains manifested out of thin air, clutched the bars of the cell door and concealed Igor's now completely motionless body from Morgana.

He ran. He turned around and ran across the room. As he reached the only exit his legs resembled a hectic flurry of black-and-white colour stripes. The dark corridor led to a hall with multiple turnings, all of which he ignored, and ultimately a steep ascending stairway. With the entire realm shaking behind and underneath him, he hurried up the staircase leading to a giant door made of what looked like stainless steel.

He burst through the not yet locked gate without sending a single glance backwards.

* * *

Darkness.

Again it started with darkness.

Morgana ran straight into the darkness. The doors of the prison behind him closed with a finite bang.

He kept running.

A dim, reddish light with no apparent source began gradually revealing his surroundings to him.

He kept running.

Spooky, red-plastered walls blocked his path, forcing him to change directions multiple times.

He kept running.

He reached a wide, open area; another corridor, but one of giant proportions. The red gloom reflected on the surface of a few indistinct shapes, blobs consisting of pitch black goo lingering around. They were moving, pulsating, with bright red lines appearing all over their... bodies?

He stopped running and took cover behind a large pillar at the very end of the corridor he had been following up until now. Sufficiently hidden, he took a peek at the seemingly sentient life forms.

There were five of them wobbling around in the tunnel. He watched them for a while but was unable to find a pattern in their patrol routes, if one could even call it that. They appeared to move at random in completely arbitrary directions.

His entire body tensed as one of the blob monsters suddenly turned around and shuffled towards the pillar he hid behind. As it came closer to him, he saw vague shapes form within its gooey body, almost breaking through the surface of the blistering black ooze before drifting back into its darkest depths. Faint whispers and cries reached his ears. Yep, he definitely wanted to avoid these shadowy creatures.

He calmly evaluated his options. There was no way he could fight them. He had no weapon and no combat experience to speak of. Plus his thin arms probably weren't to throw heavy punches. The only possible solution was stealth.

Morgana risked sending another glance at the monster. It was still heading his way and showed no sign of slowing down. The sooner he relocated the better. Mustering up all his courage he rushed out from behind his cover and sprinted towards the pillar on the right side of the corridor. The creature came to a halt mere inches away from the first pillar, then turned right, away from Morgana's current hiding spot. He sighed in relief, tried to steady his breath... and caught a whiff of what all his instincts immediately declared to be his favourite smell in the world.

Light, life, fun, cosiness, answers. The new odour promised him all these and much more if he was only able to get a hold of its source. His mouth picked up the term sent to him from the unexplored depths of his mind: "Treasureeeeeee ..."

Morgana took one last look around to make sure that none of the sentient blobs would see him, then hurried towards the one turning of the tunnel the smell came from. He spent the next hour or so in pursuit of the gaseous temptation, running into multiple dead ends but always managing to avoid detection until he reached a particularly peculiar room, the contents of which made his jaw drop.

Cages. No, rather... a single, humongous cage to his right contained an unfathomable mount of shadowy figures. It took up almost all the space in the room, being internally divided into various subsections and possessing multiple layers. The iron bars reached to a ceiling so high above the ground, Morgana was unable to see it even when looking straight upwards. The smell didn't originate here, but the giant cell had picked his interest so he stepped up to the nearest door.

Intriguingly, the creatures held prisoner here were not of the same kind as the moving piles of black ooze roaming around the tunnels of the freaky place. They possessed a distinct form, most of them being was taller than Morgana with longer, stronger limbs and equipped with a pair of fully mobile, five-fingered multi-tasking tools. However, they all lacked a tail, giving them an ultimately very humanoid appearance.

Humanoid. Hu-ma-no-id. Human-oid.

Morgana clutched the iron bars in sudden excitement. Could there creatures be the fabled humans Igor had promised him? But wait, no ... That couldn't be. Humans were supposed to be energetic, creative, each one an individual with a unique background and ambitions. These entities were just standing there dumbfounded, staring at nothing in particular and generally displaying the energy of a sloth on a Monday morning. He could've sworn some of the guys in the back rows were drooling on themselves. The term 'gargantuan disappointment ' didn't even begin to describe Morgana's feelings - until a realization hit him: he had once again skipped a step. They were imprisoned. Whatever life or identity they might have had, it didn't count for anything as long as they were held captive here and couldn't act on their own accord. A knot formed in his chest as he regarded the shadowy humans before him for what they really represented: so much wasted - no, suppressed potential.

He looked around the room again, trying to assess the suffering he was witness to. There were Thousands imprisoned here; many, many thousands ... _millions_. The thought alone brought tears to his eyes. The thought being actual fact almost broke his heart.

He slammed his head against the cell door. It had no lock, meaning it wasn't actually a door since it had never intended to be opened. This made him slam his head against it repeatedly, with increased force.

Who had done this? Why did it have to happen? How could he help them? He was completely inadequate to follow through on the new desire that had awakened within him: he wanted to help the entrapped humans. Desperately. Just like Igor had begged him to do. That old man ... a lot of his words made more sense to him now. Prison, loss of identity ... hadn't he said something about a mission? Could Morgana's mission be...?

"Shlooooorp."

Morgana spun around quickly, only to freeze dead in his tracks when he saw three goo monsters crouching towards him.

Dammit. For only a second it had slipped his mind that he was still on enemy territory. Everything in here was hostile to him. He had let his guard down briefly and already his foes had spotted him. They were way too close to flee from them and he still had no means of defending himself

Strangely enough, however, his own well-being wasn't his primary concern. Someone out there threw people into jail on a whim. Neglecting their free will, robbing them of their identities and hindering their development as individuals for mere personal gain. What if there were more cages like this one? What if all of mankind was being held captive? What if the entire world was shackled?

From amidst the turmoil of despair and horror in his mind, there arose a single thought wiping away all the others: one small part of him was outraged beyond belief at this cosmic injustice. The feeling overwhelmed him and he held onto it, using it as a means of empowerment until his little body shook. This perverted version of the world was wrong. It was rotten, ruinous. And since he was the only one running free at the moment, it was up to him to change the situation. He regarded the monsters closing in on him and clenched his tiny fists. His resistance being futile became a minor detail. Yes, he would definitely find a way to help humanity. He would free them no matter what.

Morgana took a step towards the monsters ...and fell to the ground as the knot in his chest suddenly tightened.

Every beat of his heart sent waves of pain through his body. It was getting hard to breathe. His vision became blurry.

_It seems you have discovered the purpose of your existence, _a strong, masculine voice called out. Somehow, he got the impression that the words were meant for him and him alone.

_If you have gained the resolve to see your mission through to the end, we shall form a contract. _

The speaker's timbre could have been categorize as imposing, maybe even intimidating, yet to Morgana it seemed rather soothing, like the voice of an old friend.

_I am thou. Thou art I. Thou hast dedicated yourself to what thy 'other you ' has deemed the most noble of all causes. Your deeds are now in synch with your ideals._

Morgana felt immense, raw power rising within him. Fire coursing through his veins. He coughed and gagged as his lungs briefly failed to fulfil their duty. He was unable to speak, with the sheer agony completely blocking his voice.

_Fearless and with unwavering determination, from now on your goal shall be to take the world!_

With an agonizing cry, Morgana pushed himself beyond his limits: "ZORRO!"

The entire scenery turned a shade of purple as supernatural flames erupted from Morgana's body, causing the monsters to retreat temporarily. Behind him hovered an imposing figure sporting black attire, cape and mask as well as an elegant silver sword. He didn't need to turn around to see it: he couldn't feel its presence just as well as his own limbs. He knew of its purpose, its nature, its _powers_.

Experimentally, Morgana set his sights on the monster that was closest to him. One hundred percent stern, he pointed one of his paws at it.

"Persona!", was the word which made the entity behind him shoot to attention. He imagined the silver sword slicing the entire blob apart with a single, powerful strike. And the command tied to this image was:

+Garu+

A split second later, the monster got torn in half by a strike so fast and sharp, it seemed to cut the air itself to pieces. Morgana cracked a smile of his foe faced away into obscurity. He felt great. He felt ... Like he was doing the right thing. And he had gained access to more knowledge too: his mind buzzed and fed him new information regarding the first hint Igor had given him about his true nature. 'You are Morgana', he had said. But 'Morgana' turned out to be much more than just a name. It was a term which encompassed every aspect of his existence: him being created from the dregs of human hope, him being a creature of the Velvet Room and servant to Igor, his admiration for humans and overwhelming urge to help them which had led him to object to the outrageous injustice currently ruling the world, everything. The old man had been right. He _was _Morgana. Just now he had realized and accepted it, strengthening his resolve. He felt _whole._

Morgana locked onto the two remaining monsters and closed his eyes in concentration. He tried to deliberately put more force into his next attack.

+Garu+

He could feel the attack drain more of his energy than the first one, but when he opened his eyes, both monsters had been sliced up and were busy disolving. Apparently his Persona gained strength from his resolve and a stable mental state. He might yet find a way to grow even stronger and he would definitely have to in order to complete his task.

Once the battle was over, Zorro vanished into the ether and Morgana took the time to loot the shadows' dissipating corpses to find a slightly oversized wooden slingshot. It fit comfortably in his hands but was sadly missing the string. He held onto it nonetheless and left the giant room, throwing one last sad look at the imprisoned humans as he went.

Soon enough, he was confronted with another obstacle: the new corridor forked into two new paths and the delicious smell he had been following up until now seemed to lead him both directions at once. After a bit of confusion, Morgana opted for the way to his right where the smell soon grew stronger. Peeking around a corner, he saw the biggest blob monster he had encountered so far guarding the source of the alluring fragrance: a treasure chest.

He would have preferred to loot it whilst avoiding detection, but the hallway concluded in a dead end and the monster had settled down right in the middle of the path, so he had no choice but to attack directly. He did so by charging at it from behind cover and tackling its -presumably- behind. This gave him an advantage in the ensuing battle, which he urgently needed since his foe turned out to be a furious beast seven times his size. It was a tough fight but he ultimately managed to overcome his adversary and proceeded to loot the chest for all it was worth: a utility belt with loads of pockets and some string he immediately used to repair the incomplete slingshot.

His new weapon proved to be effective as he continued on his journey through the dungeon, descending multiple layers, occasionally having to fight some shadows while avoiding most of them thanks to his small stature and agility. He had been at this for several hours when the odour of temptation finally led him to the biggest set of doors ever.

Morgana didn't hesitate to throw himself against the massive gate. The treasure was in there. He _knew _it. The goal of his mission lay within his grasp and this pitiful last line of defence wouldn't stop him from reaching it. He had to get in there for ... reasons, some more selfish than others.

Just when he contemplated calling for Zorro, the doors gave in and he stumbled into the room behind them eager to obtain the object of his desire.

The hall he entered was circular, built from bright red bricks and colossal in scale. Red strings led from the ceiling high above to the centre of the room, linking the surface of the world to the Treasure: a huge, golden cup excessively detailed with the finest sculptures and engravings. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It seemed to glow in an almost divine light, making it appear even more desirable.

He managed to notice all of this before being obliterated by an unreasonably powerful burst of energy.

* * *

Morgana awoke in the warm confinements of a back alley, squished between cardboard boxes and some rusty bins, partly covered in their contents. He felt slightly confused indeed, blinking towards the red sky and trying to remember how he got there, only to find that he had no memories to speak of. Well, next to none. He still knew who he was -Morgana- and a few loose fragments of recorded experiences still roamed around in his head. He crawled from underneath the pile of trash, straightened his posture and tried to get them in order:

Darkness. It all had started with darkness. The world had been dark, just like his mind. He had felt nothing. He had known nothing. The first thing to emerge from the darkness had been pain in form of a massive headache. And with the pain came fear. A soul-crushing, heartbeat accelerating fear which drove him to run for his life. He failed to find the reason for this fit of terror, but he had a feeling that it was somehow linked to the sound of chains piercing his ears. The rest was a blur of samey-mazey corridors painted in various shades of red and black, a strange stairway moving on its own and eventually some familiar-looking bins and cardboard boxes; the perfect spot to safely collapse from exhaustion.

Other than that he only managed to piece together two more hints about his own nature: how he was meant to help people and how humans were commonly known for helping each other. The mere thought of humans gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling. He immediately knew that he wanted nothing more than to be human. All of his instincts told him in unison that this should be his greatest goal: to be as human-like as possible. Although it was a mystery to him why he was then stuck in this strange, bobble-headed body with an additional tail.

Before he could elaborate on that thought though, his pondering was interrupted when his nose picked up a faint whiff of a certain scent which -quite literally- brought back memories. He knew this special smell which promised him everything he could ever want. The smell of temptation, of desire made manifest. The smell of-

_Treasure!_

Morgana darted to his feet and ran as fast as he could until the scent lured him to the front gate of the biggest building in the area. Although the term 'building' didn't do it justice: it was a huge castle with needlessly extravagant ornaments and dozens of towers, sporting multi-coloured walls and gothic-style windows. A more fitting word would have been 'Palace'.

All of a sudden his mind flooded with all sorts of information related to this new topic, which he was pretty sure hadn't been in there just a moment ago. Maybe his memories were tied to certain objects or terms and would unlock gradually the more he explored his surroundings? So on the bright side, at least he was suffering from the convenient kind of amnesia.

His mental update lectured him about how a 'Palace' was the cognitive counterpart of a single human's particularly distorted perspective made manifest in the Metaverse, the world of cognition, where he himself was currently located. The 'heart' of every Palace was apparently its 'Treasure', an object representing the accumulated distorted desires of said individual from the material world. Instinctively Morgana knew that stealing this Palace's Treasure would help him regain some of his memories. He briefly recalled the labyrinth of dark red corridors. Had that too been a Palace? Did it also contain a Treasure which was linked to his memories?

He decided to put these thoughts aside for now and focus on the task at hand: infiltrating the castle.

Getting in was easy enough. Someone had left the front gate wide open and Morgana snuck in undetected. Stealthily, he made his way through the castle, leaving countless monsters none the wiser as to his presence. They all took on the distinct form of medieval knights in full battle armour, slowly patrolled the hallways and possessed a field of vision rivalling that of a mole wearing sunglasses at night. From afar, Morgana even caught a glimpse of their leader, a comparatively small figure in a pink cape ordering his subordinates around.

This sight unlocked some more input: the figure was called a 'shadow', his brain informed him, and it embodied the unrestricted negative aspects of a human being. It ruled the Palace and was by far the most dangerous opponent around. So maybe he shouldn't pick a fight with this entity.

It was not until he stumbled upon a treasure chest in a nearby tower that Morgana got careless.

Okay, the chest was guarded by three knights, but he had come here to steal stuff, so he would have to take risks sooner or later and besides, that smell ... Nuh-uh, no way to resist.

A well-aimed pebble from his slingshot created a distraction for the guards by breaking one of the nearby windows and he hurried to the chest in their absence. It turned out to contain a toy sabre which felt strangely well-balanced in his hands despite being almost the same size as Morgana himself.

He regarded his new weapon, lost in thought. He knew someone who used a sword. A silver sword to be precise.

The word came naturally to him: "Persona!"

Ethereal flames of blinding blue intensity enlightened the scenery as his 'other self ' took shape. A familiar sense of belonging, the feeling that he did what he was meant to do filled him head to toe with determination.

The guards came running around the corner. There was no way to avoid detection now and he didn't want to either. Morgana shot the approaching enemies a toothy smile and pointed his new sabre at them.

"Come at me, you worthless pieces of cannon fodder! I am the great Morgana", he bragged. "The likes of you will never defeat, let alone capture and imprison me!"

He charged at the group of knights with reckless abandon.

"En garde!"


	4. Chariot

Chapter 4: Chariot

**April XXth, 20XX-1**

_Is today a good day or a bad day?, _Ryuji Sakamoto wondered, his fingers tapping a monotonous rhythm on the train handle he held onto.

The setting sun dug into its last reserves to bathe the hectic throng on the streets of Shibuya in hopeful shades of gold for a final time. Millions of people huddled around, lost in their own worlds, occupied with their own problems. Some of them were moving on their own accord, their goals in mind, confidently striding forwards. Others were shuffling about; their slouched shoulders heavy from the burdens put upon them by a third party, dragging their feet at a slug-like pace.

_A good day or a bad day?, _the first-year student from Shujin High School contemplated as he crossed the central station square in direction central street.

The masses were about to deplete while the first shops started to close up. He snaked his way through the crowd, his target destination being one of the narrow, dimly-lit back-alleys leading to the area stuffed with apartments for the less fortunate demographics of society.

_Good day or bad day?, _he mused before rounding the well-known corner and catching sight of the familiar ten-floored multi-apartment building.

_Good or bad?,_ Ryuji speculated while climbing the stairs up to level nine.

He stopped in front of the door to apartment number 97, pressed one ear against it and listened intently, keys in hand. However, he was unable to make out any loud noises. No shouting, no crying, no excessively loud TV.

_Good day?_

He unlocked the door and opened it just a few inches wide. Carefully he peeked inside.

The table in the living room was littered with bottles and cans, but as far as he could tell no new containers of booze had been added since yesterday.

_Good day?_

He slipped inside and closed the door as quietly as possible. He put down his bag and replaced his street wear sneakers with slippers, all while keeping an eye on the corner to his left which led to the kitchen. Despite trying his hardest, he couldn't hear any stifled sobs from there. Just the sound of someone cooking something and plates being served.

_Good day?_

"What the f*** is all this green stuff, woman?! You call this a meal after an eight-hour work day?! Am I some kind of f****** rabbit?!"

Ryuji squeezed his eyes shut.

_Bad day. _

_Shit._

The voice of his mother answered in a frightened whisper. "It's a new vegetarian recipe I picked up, dear. It has a calming effect on the digestion system. And with the stomach aches you've experienced lately, I thought..."

"Next time, don't think. Just make something you know I like and save us all the hassle." A muffled hiccup was audible. "By the way, where is that good-for-nothing boy? It's dinner time already! I swear he comes home later every day."

A brief silence followed until Ryuji's mother spoke up again.

"I don't know."

"Whaaaa-? He's your son. *hic* You're the one who's always going on about responsibility and all that, yet you yourself-"

"I'm in the hallway", stated allowed Ryuji in an attempt to shoot down the ensuing argument.

The briefest pause followed, before: "Then what the hell are you waiting for? A f****** invitation letter? Get in here!"

Picking up his bag, he sighed and turned around the corner. It took him merely four steps to cross the corridor. The kitchen had its usual slightly messy appearance, effectively rendering it the most presentable room in the entire flat. His mother stood at the stove. While cleaning up the leftovers from preparing dinner she gave him a small sympathetic smile.

His father sat at the dinner table, bottle in hand. The middle-aged man glared daggers at his son from tiny, bloodshot eyes. He took a sip. The odour he emitted was a breathtaking mixture of sweat, dirt and beer.

"Sit down. You're way too late for my liking but we'll talk about that once you have... enjoyed this feast", he said, gesturing towards three full plates on the table.

Ryuji sat down across from him without giving a response and pretended to search his bag for an unspecific object to avoid eye contact until his mother joined them.

"Thank you for the food." Ryuji dug in. He hadn't eaten anything since lunch and was glad to finally get a warm meal.

His father spent five minutes with his arms demonstratively crossed. Eventually he picked up the chopsticks and started eating, snorting and complaining as he did. When Ryuji's mother made one more meagre attempt to explain herself, her husband simply raised a hand and grinned smugly at her flinching.

"Nuts", he grumbled. "This is f****** nuts."

_Yup, definitely a bad day, _Ryuji confirmed.

The forth this week. The fifteenth this month. The two-hundred third since February last year and simply one more bad day among the uncounted hundreds of bad days in the almost sixteen years of his life.

Ryuji leaned further down to his plate. If he kept a low profile, maybe he'd at least be spared his father's boxes on the ears for once.

* * *

Ryuji wasn't running late. He was _doomed_.

As soon as the loudspeakers at Shibuya Central Station announced that the Ginza Line would be closed for today due to an accident, him being late for the first period had been a given. It was the second period he was afraid of, what with it being taught by a man for whose kin the term 'stuck-up' seemed to have been invented. Ushimaru-sensei wouldn't have any of his excuses, that was for sure.

Consequently, Ryuji ran the whole distance from Shibuya to Shujin, using some shortcuts to avoid the densely crowded main streets. He arrived at school in the nick of time and almost ran over someone at the entrance. He then made his way to his classroom and sat down at his desk, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Regrettably he was so exhausted that he dozed off during class, which earned him a piece of chalk to the forehead and a scolding from Mr. Ushimaru, effectively rendering his efforts pointless.

_Why the hell do I even bother?, _Ryuji asked himself as he let his head rest on the comfortably rock-hard surface of his desk. Shujin High Academy wasn't his kind of school at all. He had just transferred here this year after having successfully pulled through middle school by some miracle or other. The main reasons for that he himself had currently no idea what he could do elsewise. On the very first day at Shujin he had discovered that he didn't fit in: no one seemed willing to approach him and whenever Ryuji tried to engage in conversation with his fellow students the result was cringe worthy. Consequently he was left to roaming around the building on his own, spending lunch breaks alone. Thanks to his unstable familial situation he hadn't even been able to establish any lasting friendships at his previous school. And besides, only two of his former classmates had transferred to Shujin alongside him: Ann Takamaki and Shiho Suzui, the latter of which seemed to be slightly afraid of him if the polite but reserved way she sometimes hastily greeted him in the hallway was anything to go by. As for Takamaki... well, she deliberately ignored him as if there were some unresolved conflict between them which had gone completely over his head. So perhaps he should be thankful that neither of them was in his class, although that thought only served to remind him of the fact that he had nobody to socialize with. Nice.

"Rise and shine!"

A pair of knuckles knocked on his desk. They belonged to a man in his late forties with a light tan and the first strands of grey in his full black hair. He grinned down at Ryuji who made no effort to lift his head whatsoever.

"Whaddya want?", he groaned.

The man snickered. "Harsh. Do you even know who I am?"

"Should I?"

"Maybe. Considering I'm the guy you almost tackled to the ground this morning."

Ryuji finally lifted his head from the desk to get a proper look at the person opposite. He did remember. The PE-teacher dress gave it away. He leaned back in his chair, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. "Uh, sorry for that ... I guess. "

The man waved dismissively. "Peanuts. That's not what I'm here for." He leaned down, putting himself at eye-level with Ryuji. "I want to know what caused you to be in such a hurry."

"Well, I was runnin' late-"

"Because you overslept?"

"Nah, it was because all subway trains on my line got cancelled after some kinda accident-"

"The only trains that got cancelled today were those of the Ginza Line from Shibuya Central Station onwards, which I know for a fact because it's the same line I usually take. Therefore I had to drive here by car and I had barely arrived before you came charging through the door." The man flashed the stunned first-year a toothy grin. "So, my actual question is this: Have you been running the entire way from Shibuya to Shujin?"

Ryuji was on guard now. "From that gleam in your eyes, I take it that you've already guessed the answer. What are you gettin' at?"

"Heh. Guilty of all charges." The teacher raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Then allow me to ask a question to which I don't know the answer yet: Would you be interested in joining the track team?"

Seeing the look of utter confusion on Ryuji's face, he was quick to add: "You see, I'm coach of the track team and with the new school year having begun just recently I'm looking to fill the gaps left behind by the graduates from last year with some promising freshmen. As it happens there will be a practice meeting this afternoon in the courtyard and I think you should absolutely attend. No pressure, of course. And don't worry if you don't have any sports clothes with you, we've got a few new track suits to spare. What do you say?"

The coach looked at him expectantly. For a few precious seconds Ryuji's mind desperately tried to process this sudden development and was therefore unable to prevent his bog mouth from spontaneously saying: "Okay."

The coach shot him with a finger gun -"All right! See you there!"-and left the classroom with a triumphant stride.

And so it was that, late in the afternoon, Ryuji found himself once again sweaty and panting. He had lost count of how many he had run around the courtyard half an hour ago. His lungs felt like they were about to burst and his sides were being penetrated by invisible spikes every time he breathed in. This last run against Ikeda the third-year had really been too much for him.

"Hey, that was one nice run." The long-term member of the track team punched him in the shoulder. "Your technique and form are awful, to put it mildly, but that's to be expected from a newcomer and you have a lot of stamina to make up for it."

Unable to speak, Ryuji gave him a weak thumbs-up. _Bastard's not even broken a sweat, _he thought as his senior turned casually to face the coach who was approaching them.

"Sakamoto! Fancy a spontaneous collapse?", the coach teased.

Ryuji glared at him whilst giving a death rattle.

The man snickered. "All right, all right. I've been pushing you, but only to see my assumptions confirmed. And boy, did you deliver in that regard."

"You plan on making him a regular, coach?", Ikeda asked.

"Way to ruin the surprise", responded the coach with a slightly sour undertone. "Anyways, the other stand-outs today were Nakaoka and Takeishi. Go check on 'em, will you? I want to hear your opinion later on." He turned to Ryuji as the other student left the scene: "As for you... I meant what I said. I'd like to offer you a permanent spot on the team. We're currently lacking a bit in the dexterity department. Do you accept?"

"Why the hell -*huff*- should I join -*huff*- sportaholics like you?", Ryuji managed to squeeze out between frantic gasps for air. He had never exhausted himself to such a degree before. His sides ached so much he felt an urge to throw up and he sensed his strained muscles cramp up.

"Don't know why you _should_"_, _said the coach, sounding serious for once. "But maybe you _want _to."

Ryuji closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. For one, running had felt like he was putting energy he hadn't known he possessed to good use. What's more, he had actually gotten to make conversation with the other aspirants and team members. And last but not least, it had taken his mind off the disastrous situation awaiting him at home.

"Yeah... maybe I do", he thought out loud.

"Awesome! Let me get the papers for you."

* * *

**Several months later**

Ryuji made his way up the stairs to floor nine, taking three stairs at a time. He strode all the way to the door of apartment Nr. 97, humming as he out the key into the lock. Once inside, he turned around to close the door.

"I'm home! Has anyone- hurgh!"

The sentence remained unfinished as a strong hand grabbed him by the throat and shoved him hard against the door. Stars danced before his eyes as the back of his head hit the wood with quite some force

When Ryuji's vision cleared up, he was met with the image of his father's face, reddened, unwashed and definitely too close for comfort. He was panting, his every breath being equal parts oxygen and the bittersweet stank of various highly potent alcoholic beverages. His one hand held Ryuji by the throat, keeping him pinned to the door, while the other waved a sheet of paper around.

"What iss dis?", he hissed, dangling the paper mere inches away from his son's nose. "D'you know what disiss?"

Ryuji's stomach dropped. He didn't need to see it to know what it was: the registration as a starter for his team on the annual Tokyo track championships. Shujin wasn't exactly famous for its achievements in the athletic sector, safe for its track team having gained a reputation for sporting some formidable athletes in recent years. Therefore they were basically obligated to compete in the championships in the hopes of bringing some measure of glory to their fairly unremarkable school. This year, their coach gladly indulged in said obligation, what with all the seasoned veterans and promising new talents he had gathered, going so far as to appoint even a couple of freshmen as starters. Ryuji had been among those, much to his surprise. However, voicing his opinion of possibly not being good enough had prompted all of his teammates to give him a peep-talk and reveal how they held his abilities as a runner in high regard. He had felt strangely light-headed that day and must have missed the coach saying something like "I'll send you the registration documents per letter." A letter which had evidently fallen into his father's hands. Which meant...

"It says 'track team championships' on 'ere. I guess they must've delivered it to the wrong address." The man in the seldom washed overall drew a heavy breath. His voice rose with every word he spoke. "B'cause if -*hiccup*- if my sorry 'scuse for a son was a member of some kinda track team, then dat stupid lil' f****** woulda told me about it, RIGHT?!"

Ryuji was trembling. Being part of the track team had given his life some margin of stability which now crumbled into dust. There was no telling what his father would do now that he knew about it.

He couldn't speak. The panic seared his mouth shut.

"Answer me, you sonuva- !"

The first hit was back-handed. Ryuji's head got jerked to the side as his right temple felt the contact. With the registration paper still in his hand, the drunkard was unable to hit him with real force. He had felt worse. Way worse.

The abuser granted a short pause before he went on: "'Cause otherwise that'd mean he had been part of some club for months BEHIND MA' BACK!"

He let go of the letter and slapped Ryuji with the now empty palm of his hand, subsequently dropping the pretence entirely: "You've kept secrets fro' me! Betray'd me! All dis hard work I do for you ev'ry day and disiss how you repay me, YOU LIL' F***?!"

The next hit was a full punch. A clenched fist got driven into Ryuji's left eye socket with full force, temporarily rendering the sensitive organ within useless. He felt the area of impact prickle like fire as the fist retreated. That was bound to become one nice black eye.

"Where d'you get off? HUH? Where do you get off doin' things on your own accord?!"

His tormentor abandoned all semblance of discipline and started ruthlessly beating away at the teen. Each of his words was accompanied by a punch: "Without! Any! Kind! Of! Permission?!"

Ryuji's world dissolved into pain. He made no effort to fight back. When the grunting savage let go of his throat in order to commit both his hands to the cause of bashing his son's face in, the sixteen-year-old merely raised his arms in a meagre attempt to protect himself from the unrelenting battery. Damn, when had he gotten so used to this? The familiar pain didn't enrage him at all. Disturbingly, it only conjured a mild sentiment of resignation. Melancholy filled him head to toe. He let himself slump to the floor, leaning against the door, his face hidden behind his arms.

The onslaught continued. He didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

"Enough."

A hoarse voice spoke up.

The beating continued.

"ENOUGH!"

The voice repeated its demand at maximal volume.

It took Ryuji a while to realize that his aggressor had seized to assault his pitiful defences. Lowering his guard for only a few inches, he sneaked a peek at the newcomer on stage.

His mother stood across from him, at the end of the corridor, her black hair unkempt and messy. Although she tried to stand straight her shoulders were slouched and she had shifted most of her weight to one leg. She had a nosebleed and her face was in ruins.

She shook her head: "This is the last straw."

The adversary had turned around to face her: "Whaddya want? He merely gets what's comin' to him for overstepping his allowances an' for bein' a rebellious-"

"I gave him permission."

The drunkard burped in surprise, then narrowed his eyes: "What?"

"Ryuji asked me for permission to join the track team because he knew you would never agree and I allowed it without telling you because I also knew you would never agree."

Her opponent momentarily seemed to be at a loss for words and when he was about to speak up again, she cut him off: "No, he's not going to quit. That is not yours to decide. Not anymore."

"What do you-"

"I want you out." She held out her phone towards him, as if she were trying to exorcise a demon with a talisman. The display showed the call number of the police. "All I have to do is to press this little green icon right here and in ten minutes you'll have to elaborate to some well-dressed man why your wife and son look like they've just survived a stampede."

Even the abuser felt how dire the situation had become for him and the panic seemed to clear his mind somewhat. However, he wasn`t used to serious backlash.

He tried threatening: "You wouldn't dare-"

"Out."

He tried pleading: "Look, I know I haven't been at my best behaviour lately, but-"

"Out."

He tried reasoning: "The police department consists of nothing but corrupt f****. You can't count on them."

In response, she unzipped the long-sleeved jacket she wore despite it being mid-August and let it sink to the floor. I revealed a canvas of pale skin riddled with bruises in all shades of blue, green and purple.

She grinned at her opponent, showing off her newly missing tooth. "That's the one advantage of being an abuse victim: You always carry sufficient proof with you. No matter how corrupt they are, the cops won't be able to ignore this."

She repeated her demand one more time in a saccharine tone: "Out."

The abuser didn't move.

She shrugged and pressed 'call'.

The abuser flinched .

Ryuji sensed the incoming escalation and shuffled to his feet as fast as his battered body allowed for. He pulled the door open and charged at the man who was about to get violent with his mother again. Mustering up all his strength, Ryuji grabbed him from behind and pulled him towards the entrance. The abuser was completely taken aback by this surprise attack and almost fell flat on his face when Ryuji let go of him, regaining his balance just in time for the black-haired teen to give him a mighty push which sent him tumbling out of the flat into the hallway. Ryuji slammed the door shut and pressed himself against it. Much to his surprise however, that drunk, violent, stinking bastard made no attempt to come back inside. Instead, de heard slow, hesitant footsteps moving down the hallway and ultimately descending the stairs.

He turned around, torn between relief of having gotten rid of a toxic person and shock brought about by the fact that he _felt relieved _about having gotten rid of his father. His mother had ended the call before a connection had been established and approached him with outstretched arms. Seeing her like this broke the emotional stalemate he'd been in and he finally felt tears welling up inside of him. The disturbing messed-up-ness of their entire situation was the only thing he could think of as he cried in her embrace.

They comforted each other for a good long while until his mother pulled away and looked at him with a tender expression: "So, you wanna go to the championships?"

* * *

**September XXth, 20XX-1**

"Quiet down now! We've all ordered our meals and while those poor, poor sods in the kitchen are busy preparing a whole truckload of ramen for us on such short notice, I want to make a toast. It's a toast to all of you because you have truly earned it. Make no mistake, third place in the championships is a monumental achievement. I've been coach of the Shujin track team for almost two decades now and I honestly cannot recall any performance during that time which even came close to what you lot have managed to pull off this past week. It's a huge step forward and has already begun to benefit our school's reputation. All this is thanks to our amazing team. So, I give a toast to all our experienced third-years who'll sadly leave us this year once they've all graduated, for a stellar performance at their last High School championships. I also give a toast to all our committed second-years who decided to stick around and can now see their efforts pay off. And I especially give a toast to our promising first year freshmen, some of which impressed with their near flawless form and technique -that one's for you, Nakaoka- while others were dexterous enough to make up for a complete lack thereof and still be amongst the best runners in the entire tournament, somehow. Yes, Sakamoto, I see you pretending not to see me." The coach grinned and raised his glass. "Everyone! Cheers!"

"CHEERS!"

The unbound enthusiasm of Shujin's track team filled the entire hour until the celebration lost a bit of momentum. Ryuji felt strangely dazed and gave his empty glass a suspicious look even though he was certain they hadn't been served any booze.

"Are you planning to assassinate that cup?"

Someone had sat down across from him without him noticing. It was Nakaoka. Ryuji couldn't help but burst out laughing. The unusually straight-faced first-year was the last person he had expected to crack a joke out of the blue.

"Nah, man", he said once he had recovered. "Just wonderin' if you can get drunk on a feelin' of accomplishment."

Astonishingly, the other student nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean. It's a bit overwhelming but still nice."

"Just you wait, it'll be even better next year."

"That's precisely why I'm here." Nakaoka crossed his arms. "With Ikeda-senpai and the other third-years gone, you and I as the most promising newcomers will have to carry a lot more weight. It'll be our responsibility to-" He interrupted himself and scratched his ear, apparently somewhat nervous. "Nevermind. I'm being overly dramatic again. What I want to say is this: We need to improve as runners. The coach pointed out how you are particularly weak when it comes to form and technique..."

Ryuji shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, I just have trouble rememberin' to apply all that theoretical stuff about breathin' and step rhythm. Once I'm runnin', I'm runnin'."

"It isn't quite easy to consistently apply", admitted Nakaoka. "But I could help you learning precisely that."

"Huh?" Ryuji was baffled. "But I can't give you anything in return. Like, you're a bit short on stamina, right? But I can't help you trainin' that. I'm too green-"

"If you're worried about 'repaying' me, you can do so by simply becoming a better runner and strengthening our team. If you win, the team wins, meaning everyone here wins including me, if that puts your mind at ease. Besides, coming in third usually implies losing to two of your opponents, but..." Nakaoka looked around at their teammates partying it up. "Strangely, I don't feel like a loser at all. It has been like this ever since I joined a track team when I was little. I like the feeling of being part of something. The track team is the one thing I managed to defend from my strict parents. It's the one thing that says 'me' in my... taxing life. It's all I've got, really. That's why I want to see it succeed."

His last words struck a chord with Ryuji. Oh, how he could relate to that. He sighed. "Guess we're quite similar then."

"How come?"

Ryuji gave him a rough draft of his life up until the point his father had left them and why. He tried to belittle the abusive acts but found himself unable to skip them entirely.

"He's gone", he concluded. "Now I can finally focus on the things important to me. I'm just as committed to the track team as you are."

Nakaoka had started to frown at the very beginning of Ryuji's story and hadn't stopped since. He shook his head. "Honestly, I don't think I can compare to that kind of resolve", he said quietly but sympathetically.

"You better not be tellin' anyone about this, ya hear? No one. Not a single word."

"Don't worry I won't, but Sakamoto, your f-"

"It's Ryuji", he interrupted, driving home the point that he didn't want to discuss anything regarding his father. "And I accept your offer." He raised a hand for a high-five. "For the team?"

Nakaoka cracked a rare smile and accepted the gesture. "For the team."

Finally, things were going uphill. "This is gonna be awesome."

* * *

**October Xth, 20XX-1**

"Hello. My name is Suguru Kamoshida and as of today I'll be coaching the track team. I'm looking forward to working with you."

The six-foot-three jersey-wearing teacher bowed politely. His toothy smile was completely wasted on the whole dozen other occupants of the room who were regarding him like he was a human-sized piece of green goo having just been dropped in the changing room by a passing U.F.O. : unexpected and extremely unsettling.

"Uhm." Takeishi raised his hand. "Pardon my asking, Sensei, but what happened to our old coach? We didn't know he was quitting or-"

"I'll answer all your questions at the end of the training session if there's time. Since you are the esteemed athletes who have earned Shujin some respect and praise from other faculties, I've taken the liberty to prepare some _challenging _exercises for you. Let's test them out, shall we?", the new coach said and gestured for them to follow him.

"He's provoking you, Ryuji", Nakaoka said while rolling his shoulders.

"Gee, I could have told you that at the end of the first training session and that was three weeks ago."

They stood in a corner of the courtyard, stretching.

"Just wanted to make sure you won't let it get to you. From what I've gathered he's a newcomer to the staff whom they put in charge of us hoping to squeeze an even better performance out of us. Bad news is , he doesn't seem to like our team very much and since the Principal's personally backing him up, we can't resist him. And he might be looking for an excuse to disband the track team. Don't give him one. This is just another challenge we have to overcome. You're our best runner now. The team looks up to you. If you can endure it, they can too."

Nakaoka looked around, worried, which he had every reason to be because: "Sakamoto! Nakaoka! What have I told you ? No chit-chat during practice. Are you slacking off again?"

"No, coach."

"Just stretchin', coach."

Kamoshida shook his head as if they'd just given him the most disappointing answer possible. "For supposedly top-athletes, you seem to have a pretty laid-back approach to all of this. Especially you, Sakamoto. But whatever, don't let my meddling interrupt your important debate..."

Ryuji grimaced at Kamoshida's retreating back. This didn't go unnoticed by Nakaoka who put a hand on the other's shoulder and hammered home his point one last time: "Remember, we'll have to put up with this. If only one of us lashes out at him, he'll disband the entire team, meaning we all lose. If we endure it, we'll keep the team alive, meaning _we all win._"

He gave Ryuji an intense glare and offered his hand. "For the team?"

Ryuji slapped it without hesitation. "For the team."

* * *

**November Xth, 20XX-1**

"You're a disgrace to the team, Sakamoto!"

Ryuji let out an exasperated sigh and stepped fully into the courtyard. Kamoshida awaited him, arms crossed, his face equipped with what had to be an A+-example of a theatrical disapproving frown.

"I was only gone for like five minutes, coach."

Kamoshida scoffed. "Even now you're giving me an attitude? Do you realize what you've done?" He spoke needlessly loud as if he wanted all the track team members practicing in the courtyard to overhear their dispute. Come to think of it, that probably _was _his intention.

Ryuji stopped short of throwing his hands into the air in resentment. "Dunno. Wanna enlighten me?" _Your Highness, _he almost added.

"That boy you left the courtyard with was limping, Sakamoto. Limping! What did you do to him?"

"I brought him to the nurses' office 'cause he was injured and-"

"And how did he receive these injuries?"

"By missin' a step and makin' rather rough contact with the ground. Some weirdoes call it 'tripping'." Ryuji knew that he wasn`t exactly doing himself any favours with remarks like these, but _damn_ did this guy make it hard to resist the urge.

Kamoshida stared at him in showcase disbelief. "Tripping? Really? Tripping? " He shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, Sakamoto, but these are all well-trained athletes. They don't get injured that easily. At least not in a way that would warrant a trip to the nurse's office."

Ryuji grit his teeth at that remark. He knew without looking that most runners from the small crowd which had gathered around them wore bandages or plasters of some sort. In fact, ever since Kamoshida had started training them, at least three members of the track team had been absent due to injuries at any given time.

_Yeah, the old coach might have pushed us until they could pinpoint the exact location of every aching muscle sometimes, but this... This ain't no trainin'..._

That thought got him even more riled up.

"I'll be frank." Kamo-shit-a gave him his best impression of a stern glare. "Where you responsible for the injuries your teammate has suffered? Where you perhaps the _direct cause?_"

It took Ryuji a while to realize that Kamoshida was accusing him on having actively brutalized a fellow team member. When the coin finally dropped, it was enough to make him snap.

"I haven't laid a finger on him! I would never lay a finger on any of my friends and you damn well know it! Where did you get that retarded idea from?"

"Well...", Kamoshida lowered his voice, immediately drawing the attention of the entire audience to his next words.

"You know what they say, ..."

Dramatic pause.

"...like father like son."

Every last drop of blood left Ryuji's face.

His nemesis didn't miss out on the opportunity: "Apparently, your father had a tendency to vent his anger on his wife by beating her savagely over the course of the many years they were together, in your presence even. What good could possibly come from such a toxic household? I have noticed you growing more and more frustrated with every week. Why shouldn't you follow his example and let your violent temper run wild? Because if you disapproved of his actions, surely you would have tried to intervene to protect your mother at some point. You didn't, which I take as a sign..."

Kamoshida's mask of the righteous teacher lecturing a problem student had stayed intact for the longest time. Occasionally, a wicked twitch overcame his lips. "You know, I was wondering why you deliberately kept this a secret from the team but now I'm starting to get the idea. You did it to avoid suspicion, didn't you?"

Ryuji's world broke apart. He had never mentioned his life at home to the others because he'd felt like he simply couldn't bear to talk about it. The hot shame, which presently melted his stomach at his secret being exposed, told him just how right he'd been with his assumption. All of his team mates avoided his gaze and Nakaoka was nowhere to be seen.

Shocked, embarrassed and desperate, he could merely express a weak refusal to what in his mind was the worst accusation Kamoshida had thrown at him: "I'm _nothing _... like that ... that _bastard_!"

This guy had no idea what he was talking about. What he and his mother had suffered at the hands of this monster. What the mere possibility of becoming like the man he despised the most triggered within him.

The former Olympic medallist steeped forward and leaned down until their faces were just a few inches apart. His eyes were bottomless dark pits. "I've seen a lot of guys like him back in the day. I know how they get so messed up. It always starts with a troubled childhood."

_But that is no guarantee-_

"You're going to become just like him." Kamoshida whispered. "And there is nothing you can do about it."

WHAM!

A clenched fist pistoned into Kamoshida's right cheek, effectively replacing the smug look on his face with one of a pained shock which soon grew more pained than shocked when a second, much heavier blow was delivered to his eye socket. He stumbled backwards.

Ryuji could see the imprint of his fist on the teacher's face. That was bound to become one nice black eye.

_Good. _

The feeling of triumph lasted about three seconds before Kamoshida wrestled him to the ground. He grabbed a hold of Ryuji's leg and his biceps swelled up as he smashed his elbow against the inner side of the teen's knee.

The joint didn't budge right away.

Ignoring the boy's screams, he hit it a second time.

KRTCH.

"I'm sorry", she said.

"For what?"

Sighing, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Pretty much everything. I stayed with your father for so long because I wanted you to grow up in a stable family -well, 'stable'- a _complete _family at least. Nowadays I'm aware that this was wrong, seeing how it did us more harm than good. When your father left, I thought it would finally give us the orderly life you needed and deserved. So, I decided to try and make do as a single parent, but it seems that wasn't the right choice either."

She managed not to look at his leg while saying this. Ryuji however, did not. The cast had been removed last week and he could walk just fine, but running? Forget it. Part of him was even scared to try.

They were on their way home from a meeting with some Shujin representatives. Since he would be returning to school soon, some things needed to be sorted out. Him raising a hand against Kamoshida was far from forgotten and the teachers had given both him and his mother a lot of shit during the meeting. She was understandably upset, but her proclamation of self-blame nonetheless horrified him.

"The only one who deserves to be blamed for anything regardin' Dad's shortcomings, is Dad", he stated, matter-of-fact.

She hummed in response and stared ahead.

Ryuji could tell that he wasn't getting through to her. A feeling which hurt more than any broken bones.

She changed the topic: "Exams are coming up soon. You'll need to work hard if you want to pass the grade."

* * *

**April 4th, 20XX. **

"What in the-?"

"I can't believe this."

"Did he _dye_ his hair? That's a direct violation of the rules."

"It's Sakamoto we're talking about. He obviously doesn't give a damn. Just look at the way he's dressed."

"Well, I wouldn't put it past him to simply not know how suspenders work, but the rolled-up trousers are definitely intentional. And hey, at least his new hair colour matches up with his shirt."

"Seriously, the blond colour is so artificial it looks almost yellow. They should expel him for that crime against fashion alone."

"Ms. Kawakami was the first to grab a hold of him this morning but she just gave him a stern talking to and let him go. I don't know if she properly chastised him or not."

"You'd think he of all people would know better than to draw attention through provocation."

"Maybe that's the point. It's probably the only way anyone will ever pay any kind of attention to him again. Most students and teachers hate him for lashing out at Kamoshida-sensei. And his team mates hate him most of all since his violent outburst was the reason the principal disbanded their club."

"From 'star of the track team' to 'track traitor'. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Starts off the new year of school just where he left the old one hanging, then."

"Well, my guess is he actually wants to provoke. Like, you've heard how he keeps clashing with Kamoshida-sensei in broad daylight, right?"

"Hah, the nerve! Pestering the man who's trying to fix the damage he has caused. Without Kamoshida-sensei's astounding accomplishments with the volleyball team, our school's reputation would have gone down the drain again."

"Steady on now, that man is no saint himself. I mean, have you seen the way he looks at Takamaki?"

"I have seen the way _every_ male looks at Takamaki."

"Touché, but he isn't content with just ogling at her. He actually walks up to her and makes, uh, se-"

"Suggestive remarks, you mean?"

"Uh, sure."

"And has she once told him to stop? No, she just gives him an evasive statement like 'I have to be somewhere' and leaves him with aching blue balls. Even worse, sometimes she even seems to flirt back. If she doesn't want his attention, why doesn't she just say so?"

"Hmph. No wonder the girls hate her. She's giving them a bad name."

"True, our favourite quarter-American might be just as infamous as Sakamoto in her own 'special' way."

"That miserable little-"

"What did you say?"

"Oh, crap!"

"S-S-Sakamoto? What are you-?"

"You. Stay here. Everyone else, piss off! ...Now what was that about Kamoshida goin' after Takamaki?"

* * *

**April 11th, 20XX.**

**"Attention. Doors are opening."**

Ryuji pressed his bag closer against his chest as the mass of leaving passengers was replaced by an even greater mass of passengers getting on. Nervously, he snuck a peek at the train schedule. Only a few stations more till Aoyama-Itchome. He knew that both his and Takamaki's way to school included a short walk from Aoyama station to the Shujin grounds and was planning on waylaying her there. He figured he needed to talk to her in a Kamoshida-free environment after having tried questioning her about the rumours last week. She had kept glancing around and dodging all of his questions as if she were afraid of the walls suddenly sprouting ears. She ended up frantically insulting him, leaving him speechless and aggravated as lunch break ended. She was hiding something for sure. And if the rumours were anything to believe...

Ryuji bit down on his teeth. He was ready to believe any and all shady theories regarding Kamoshida being an ass. But a high school teacher pursuing one of his students, a minor no less, was a whole other level of low.

One more station.

Truth be told, half of Ryuji's motivation was to get dirt on Kamoshida, the other was curiosity. Takamaki was far too strong-willed and witty to let herself be toyed with by some scumbag, albeit a monumentally dickish one. Something was off.

"Nuts", he grumbled, dejected. "This is effin' nuts."

**"Aoyama-Itchome. This is Aoyama-Itchome."**

A wagonload of early-Monday-morning-zombies flooded the station, carrying Ryuji in their midst. He picked up the pace as he left the underground, only to run straight into a shower of rain which must have snuck its way past yesterday's weather report, somehow.

The next moment he thanked the heavens for that particular mishap when he spotted a figure clad in a Shujin uniform and bright red tights taking cover from the rain underneath the canopy of a nearby fancy clothing store.

Takamaki.

The _next _next moment a knot of icy fear formed in his chest when he saw a car pull over and stop in front of her. A car which he recognized as Kamoshida's car.

Ryuji's efforts to try and break into a sprint were undermined by a myriad of small dots of pain his leg used to warn him of the impending overstrain. He was stuck with some sort of limping; a few steps running followed by a few steps walking, somewhat reminiscent of a cart with a wonky wheel hurtling down a shattered road, the driver desperately trying to figure out what those 'leash'-things are all about while his horses go wild.

But at least he had a goal...

After all:

_Once I'm runnin', I'm runnin'._


	5. Lovers

Chapter 5: Lovers

**April XXth, 20XX-3.**

Ann cursed her skirt for what had to be the umpteenth time that week.

Running late for class because of simply being unable to run without showing glimpses of her undergarments to the world was one of the most infuriating experiences she ever had to go through. Recently it happened quite a lot. Having just moved to Japan from Finland where everyone always wore pants except when bathing, she wasn't used to a short, impractical piece of cloth limiting her pace to a brisk walk at best. Energetically bowing down to pick something off the ground was also an absolute no-no and if so much as a light breeze was blowing five miles away, she had only the option to hold onto the garment covering her pelvis and hope that two hands were enough to hold it down.

She carefully ascended the stairs to the second floor, taking only one step at a time, her back stiff as a board and paying attention not to raise her knees too high. She gritted her teeth in annoyance at her slug-like pace.

Next up was art class in room 2-F. Not that Ann cared all that much about this particular subject. She had other preferences. English for example. Or English. And of course English. But the feeling of being actively held back by such a mundane thing as impractical dressing etiquette was insanely aggravating to her for some reason.

She reached room 2-F and grabbed hold of the door handle, taking a deep breath as she did.

_All right. Here goes. _

She slid the door open and tried her best at an apologetic smile.

"Good morning. Please excuse my lateness...", she began softly before noticing that everyone in the room had stopped applying water colours to their respective sheet of paper and was now staring at her with wide eyes. Not the typical 'How -dare-you-come-late '-kind of stare, but rather an incredulous, borderline gawk mixed with a dose of fascination, as if they had spotted an alien.

The teacher was first to recover. "Ah, you must be the new transfer student. Takamaki-san, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yyyeeeaaahhh..., that's me", she said hesitantly. Being the centre of attention made her feel awkward right off the bat.

The man was quick to explain: "Since you've transferred here only recently most people in this class haven't met you yet, myself included. Why don't you step up front and introduce yourself? Everyone, please welcome our lovely newcomer."

Ann did as he asked. "Hello, I'm Ann Takamaki. I transferred here because my family moved from Finland to Japan not long ago, but originally we used to live in America. It's nice to meet you", she exclaimed and bowed, attempting to relieve the tension by way of cheerfulness. It seemed to work, seeing how half of the class spontaneously applauded her.

The teacher chuckled good-naturedly. "All right, all right. Settle down, now. Takamaki-san, there's a free desk next to Suzui-san. Please take a seat."

Ann sat down at the designated location and breathed a sigh of relief. If nothing else, at least her new school appeared to be a decent one.

_So there is one way in which moving to Japan didn't make your life a whole lot more complicated and inconvenient, _she thought to herself. _Now if only Mom and Dad would come home a bit more often... _

"Today's task is to paint something recognizable with water colours to refresh the basics. Please resume your work. I'll collect the paintings once class has ended", the teacher announced.

Vigorously, Ann brought out her painting utensils, set herself up with two pots of water and proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes with her brush hovering over the colours, unsure where to begin. Choosing a motif would definitely be a start. Unfortunately, she could only think of her feeling of estrangement. How was she supposed to express that in a painting?

Deciding to test her luck rather than to risk having to show a whole load of nothing to the teacher later on, Ann dipped her brush into the red paint and drew a bold, bright line across her small canvas. And another one. And another one for good measure. She leaned back in her chair and examined her work critically. It did bring a bit of live into the blankness, but at the same time seemed a bit out of place. Much like a certain someone.

_Maybe I could smoothen the transition by adding a calmer background colour to the surroundings..._

She used everything from dark purple to magenta and created a stable backdrop around the red lines from which they stood out even more, somehow.

_Should I paint over them? They draw all the attention while not being very pretty, at least in my opinion. Plus, they look so lonely..._

From the corner of her eye, Ann noticed a faint movement, prompting her to look at the girl next to her. Her desk buddy wore her raven hair in a short ponytail and held her head low over her own sheet of paper. Perhaps a bit too low. No ordinary person would put that much effort into a routine art class task, right?

_Did she try to sneak a peek? Nah, why would she... She's obviously busy with her own painting... which looks terrific by the way. Damn._

Ann glared at her own product again. How could she compete with that? Contrary to her neighbour, she didn't have a clue what she wanted to express in her work, let alone an idea how to properly display the concept. Consequently, she ended up following her gut again, added flashy green when she thought her picture looked too unnatural and bright rays of yellow to lighten it up. Occasionally she heard a stifled groan from the black-haired girl.

_Wow, she must be really into art, if she's this discontented with her picture. _

Since she found herself beginning to enjoy the crafting process, Ann paid this no further mind.

As a last touch she positioned a pool of snake-like black lines in the lower right corner and proceeded to promptly smudge them all over her rays of sunshine when she reached for the cup of water. It was an absolute disaster in many ways, but she found that it also gave the painting a certain... originality as she raised the paper from her desk in order to examine it in a better lighting.

That was, until she made eye contact with her neighbour.

The girl -Suzui-san, was it? - held her arm hovering in mid-air, her brush dripping with fresh paint, and gawked at the explosion on paper. Her jaw hung slightly open. She closed her mouth when their eyes met and let out one big sigh. Then she extended a hand, put it on Ann's shoulder and met her gaze. Her expression was not dissimilar to the stare all other students had given her this morning. This was why her next words came as such a surprise.

"Takamaki-san, that is legitimately the suckiest painting I've ever seen."

'Out of the blue' didn't quite cut it. Ann was too baffled to even speak, though Suzui-san read the unspoken question -'Why? '- from the look on her face.

"Sorry." She shrugged her shoulders, a pitying smile forming on her lips. "But it is _so_ bad that I just felt like a had to tell you."

Now it was Ann's turn to sit there with her mouth agape. _How?... What?... Why?..._

"Lunch break begins in five minutes. Please start submitting your papers now."

Suzui-san finished her painting with one final, decisive brushstroke and got up.

"At least connect the red lines. Please", she snickered, before walking to the teacher's desk, leaving Ann completely stunned. Not embarrassed, not enraged, not hurt, just stunned and... in awe.

* * *

"Listen here, everybody! Next up is an exercise in teamwork. Please arrange yourselves in pairs _à deux. _We're an even number today, so if you somehow manage to end up without a partner, you've done something wrong."

All students in the gym started to pair up with one another in accordance to the PE-teacher's instructions. Naturally, most of them partnered up with one of their friends or associates which left Ann in a bit of a tight spot. Being the mysterious new transfer student, she hadn't had the time yet to connect with anyone. Soon she found herself among the 'leftovers ' so to speak, the remaining few who had to form a team with someone they neither knew nor liked out of sheer necessity, because all their other options were already taken. And even that group grew smaller and smaller. To make matters worse, all of them were boys. This had the upside of most of them being very eager to be her partner, begging her politely with wide smiles. The downside consisted of an indistinct feeling of unease, which only grew worse the more they pleaded. Oh, they never went overboard. They stayed perfectly polite and kind, complimenting her while they backed her into a corner.

Ann was out of her depth with the situation until she spotted a fidgeting figure in white over one of the boys' shoulders. Someone at the far end of the hall was waving at her or in her general direction. Instinctively, she began to wave back and broke the line of hormone-controlled teenagers. Wearing the school's sports dress (with pants) allowed her to run again, so she did and didn't stop until she reached her saviour... who turned out to be Suzui-san.

Ann came to a halt right in front of her.

_I get it. You settled for me since you couldn't find any other girl. Well, this is awkward. _

Suzui-san kept frowning.

_Do something. Try smiling._

Ann gave her a meek, grateful smile.

Suzui-san scoffed and turned away.

Ann's smile evaporated like a puddle of water under the desert sun.

The PE-teacher roamed their ranks, handing each pair a worksheet. They were to perform the exercise for five minutes each before passing it on to the pair to their right until they had performed each exercise once. All stretches were based on two partners cooperating, so Ann worked together with Suzui-san although annoyingly, her partner seemed unwilling to even look at her which made some work-outs just a tad more difficult than they needed to be. Angered by this, she tried to chat with her to catch her off guard and make Suzui-san acknowledge her presence.

It didn't work. Suzui-san stayed stoic through fifteen different stretches until the bell rang which coincidentally was around the time Ann ultimately lost her patience.

"All right, you got me. What did I do wrong?", she snapped.

Suzui-san regarded her warily, but made no effort to respond. Ann wouldn't let her off the hook though. "We've barely met and you're behaving as if I were an offense to your eyes. Was my painting of such subpar quality that you decided to become my sworn enemy?"

"This isn't about the stupid painting", snorted Suzui-san.

_Finally she's talking. _"State your case then, please."

Her exercise partner gave her one long, analyzing look. Eventually her brows furrowed. "You don't mean to tell me you have no idea what's going on, do you?"

Exasperated with the response, Ann threw her hands into the air. "Thank you. That kind of vague answer is just what I need right now!"

"Will you please keep it down?", hissed Suzui-san. She grabbed hold of Ann and dragged her to a corner, away from any curious bystanders. "This is no joke, you know."

"I'm not making any." Ann's voice weakened. "I've been having this feeling that something's off ever since this morning. If you can tell me the reason for that, please do."

The grim expression in Suzui-san's eyes made way for doubt. "So... you're really... not doing this on purpose?"

"If you start playing the pronoun game now, I swear-"

Suzui-san shook her head in disbelief. "Sorry, I just... didn't expect anyone to be so airheaded-"

"Strike number two. If the pitcher dodges the question one more time, she'll be disqualified due to not getting to the damn point", Ann growled.

Suzui-san wasn't fazed one bit. "Hoo, where to begin", she mused before dropping all subtlety. "It's your looks." She gestured to the other students in the gym. "Do you see a single guy or girl with blond hair? Nope, it's all black and brown. Your appearance alone already makes you stand out like a sore thumb. Your status as a transfer student also gives you an air of unpredictability which will prevent most of the others from talking to you during the first month, trust me. Being a foreigner doesn't help either. But these are all fairly common problems. You have got a bigger issue weighing you down." Suzui-san made a couple of insecure grasping movements as if she were trying to pull the right words from thin air. "Your... charm, I guess. Really don't know what else to call it. You're extremely pretty without putting in much effort and everyone here is instinctively aware of it."

She stepped in close and began to whisper: "Now try to see yourself from their perspective: you're an eye catch, a mystery and a beauty queen. So much for standing out. You won't be able to avoid to it. But in addition, not many people will want to be your friend. The boys will only be after you because they're boys in puberty and pursuing pretty girls is their single purpose in life and you being inept at walking modestly in a skirt doesn't exactly work in your favour there. Yes, I saw you crawling your way to the gym. But all the aforementioned factors drawing the boys to you will simultaneously make most girls resent you. The fact that you seem to be unaware of your charm doesn't restrict its influence at all. If anything, that makes it even worse, since this implies that you have no control over it, i.e. are incapable of turning it off. So you're essentially stuck."

Having concluded her soliloquy, Suzui-san huffed and cocked her head at a frozen Ann. "Honestly, I do _not _envy you, Takamaki-san. Not one bit."

* * *

Ann sat on the school rooftop, dangling her legs from a bench.

Fifteen days and a half. She had managed to hold her own for fifteen days and a half after Suzui-san had revealed the curse of her looks to her.

Initially, she didn't believe a word the raven-haired girl said to her. Ann didn't think of herself as being very pretty. Being a model and the child of not one but _two_ successful fashion designers, she had spent her whole life surrounded by the _creme de la creme _of truly beautiful people and amongst those she had never stood out much. And now her mild attractiveness was supposed to have such a polarizing effect on a whole school? Psh. Yeah, right.

Regardless of her defiance however, Suzui-san's words resonated with her on a deeper level. The very next day, Ann was already subconsciously watching out for any suspicious looks being sent her way. By the end of the day she had counted thirty-six separate instances which struck her as an impossibly high number. How in the world had this slipped by her before? Further investigating during the following week revealed that she received most stares from boys whose wide eyes spoke of wild fascination while glances from girls were fewer, hidden and way less friendly. Both kinds made her feel equally creeped out. Just like Suzui-san had foretold, nobody approached Ann and she had no opportunity to get acquainted with someone. So with that and the continued absence of her parents plus the impersonal attitude of her caretaker, Ann could officially add 'crushing sense of loneliness' to her list of problems.

_And all of it just because I look different_, she thought, playing with her two pigtails before hiding her face in the long strands of platinum blonde hair. She couldn't hope to deal with all of this on her own. She didn't have the strength, the awareness, the critical thinking necessary to evaluate the situation in its entirety, let alone find a solution to it. Thus she needed help, preferably from someone who could relate to her, possessed expanded knowledge regarding the subject of Japanese Middle Schools and was unbiased enough to actually talk to her, a description which fit but one individual.

Ann had discovered how Suzui-san had also transferred to this middle school just a few months earlier, was known for her athletic prowess and complete lack of any meaningful connection to other students. Encouraged by their similarities, she had approached Suzui-san during lunch break who had raised an eyebrow at her and simply whispered: "Rooftop. After school."

_Well, she didn't turn me down. But I have no idea what to expect of her. She's caught me off guard twice already. _

A door in dire need of some oiling creaked as Suzui-san stepped onto the rooftop, holding her bag in one hand with the other closing the door behind her.

"You wanted to talk?"

Her eyes had the same vigilant expression as always. She stood a good ten feet away from Ann who gave a mental sigh, rehearsing her text one last time.

She got up. "Yes, Suzui-san. Firstly... I wanted to say... I'm, sorry." She bowed stiffly.

"Whatever for?" The person opposite sounded alarmed.

Ann kept her head low while responding: "Remember two weeks ago when you told me about how my looks would bring me a lot of unwarranted attention? And I... I snapped at you and made the mistake of dismissing your words because I thought I knew better. Turns out, you were right so apologizing is the least I can do."

"Oh, that. No problem", Suzui-san remained reserved. "I didn't take it as a personal thing, to be honest. "

Feeling a bit relieved, Ann straightened up. _Now for the difficult part. _ "Secondly, I wanted to ask for your opinion on something."

A silent nod signalled her to continue.

"Uh, well, you see... since my appearance is probably... okay, _definitely_ the reason for me standing out so much to the point people openly stare at me, I thought it might solve my problem if I just changed it. Like dyeing my hair and-?"

The worst case scenario occurred: Suzui-san recoiled as her face gained a mortified expression. "Why on earth would you want to do that?", she spat. "Do you have any clue what most girls are prepared to go through to get the kind of beauty you've been gifted with on nature's whim? How can you be so careless? Are you really that bad at thinking things through? Or is it because you just don't give a-"

"I do. Trust me, I do. I've been taught the value of beauty. But it doesn't get rid of my loneliness. Right now, I would trade it all for someone to talk to."

Suzui-san started a reply but seemed to change her mind halfway through.

"I don't know much about the latest fashion", she murmured, looking away. "You should ask someone else for advice."

Ann gave a short, bitter laugh. "Any suggestions?"

"Your parents-"

"Are busy overseas and I only get to see them two months a year, at most."

"Oh." Was it Ann's imagination or did Suzui-san sound a tad sympathetic? "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone, if you search for a while."

"Maybe I'm searching at this exact moment?" Even Ann herself couldn't tell whether she had uttered a statement or a question. And in addition to the weakness in her voice, the overall corniness of the line made her cringe inside. Still, since Suzui-san hadn't picked up on the subtext so far, she felt she had to be clearer.

_Which still won't help if she's deliberately ignoring it. _

Suzui-san struggled to assemble a response. Her scrunching face spoke volumes about how she felt about the situation. Ann's heart sank as it dawned upon her just how uncomfortable the girl was with the image of them being friends. Her innards temporarily turned into venomous snakes pinching her from the inside, their poison being an immense bitterness. She felt... rejected, as well as an overwhelming urge to leave instantly. She spoke up to relieve Suzui-san off the trouble of formulating an answer. "Thank you."

This earned her a confused look, so she clarified: "For telling me my painting sucked."

Only then did she become aware of how bizarre of a statement this was. It didn't embarrass her, however. Even the snakes stopped biting and slithering as a sentiment of numbness overcame her. She barely managed to go on.

"That was the first and only time anyone at this school has talked to me without mentioning my looks, believe it or not. In a way, it was the nicest thing I've heard in a while."

Ann didn't pay attention to Suzui-san's reaction. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to see anything. She needed to get out of here before her voice failed her. She bowed again.

"Goodbye. I am terribly sorry to have troubled you."

_Ugh, talk about stiff..._

Ann turned, ready to make a dash for the door, leave the school for home and cry herself to sleep in her bed-

-when she found a hand clutching hers.

Suzui-san locked eyes with her, black to aqua blue.

"Please come with me, Takamaki-san", she said softly.

* * *

Half an hour later they sat down together in a diner somewhere in Central Shibuya. The establishment had a very rustic vibe to it, with its mostly wooden furniture and non-excessive lighting creating a homely, comfy atmosphere. Not many guests were present, enabling for the two schoolgirls to fetch what Suzui-san claimed to be the best booth around. Slightly huddled in a corner next to the windows, it allowed for a great view of the busy streets below and the entirety of the restaurant as well as providing privacy if need be. The place put Ann at ease for some reason.

"Isn't it kind of early for dinner, though?", she asked as she occupied the first bench.

"We're not here for a full-fledged meal", replied Suzui-san, sitting down across from her. "This locale has something better to offer besides those. You like sweets, right?"

"How do you-"

"You're the only person I've ever seen gobbling down three packs of chocolate sticks on their own. Within the same hour no less."

Ann unintentionally turned pink. "That was only on my first day at school! I was nervous!"

"I'm not judging. There are worse methods of stress-relief. But in this case it comes in handy because this place has the best desserts in all of Shibuya."

"But isn't it a bit rude to occupy an entire booth while only ordering a snack?"

Suzui-san shrugged. "Sure is. But the staff here is unbelievably patient. They'll leave you alone for hours until the real waves of customers start rolling in, provided you've ordered anything at all."

Their chit-chat was cut short by a waitress approaching their table. With a wink to Ann, Suzui-san ordered something for the two of them. The waitress took notes and retreated, whereupon silence settled in. The interruption of their light-hearted conversation, which had been their attempt to distract themselves from the topic hanging over them sword-of-Damocles-style, namely their grave dialogue on the rooftop, left them awkwardly glancing around, stalling.

Eventually, Suzui-san cleared her throat. "You... hrm... said you wanted to dye your hair", she recalled.

"Yeah and you took offence to that." Ann clicked her tongue.

_That slipped out harsher than I wanted it to._

The person opposite nodded silently, lost in thought.

"Why, Suzui-san? Why did it bother you so much?", she whispered, unsure of whether or not she actually wanted to hear the answer.

Suzui-san took a deep breath. "Because I thought it was... See, from the perspective of the girls at school you're by far the prettiest girl in their direct vicinity. They put you on a pedestal from day one. You strolled in here and everyone was just... stunned. You get all the attention from the boys without having to make any effort whatsoever. Or so it seems. Nobody will ever dare to question your beauty because the thought alone seems ridiculous. You're gossip topic number one yet you somehow manage to remain the mysterious charm bucket that's in a class of her own. Oh and let's not forget, you're also a model born into a family of famous fashion designers. Basically what I'm saying is: Do you know how close you are to what most girls our age would picture as the 'ideal woman'? The thing those delusional adolescents all want to become someday while you seem to be living that dream already? Their gossip and contemptuous attitude towards you is just an instinctive reaction because they feel like they can't compare to you. They're envious of you. I know. Because I feel the exact same way. " Her voice faded at that confession as if she were confronting a sad truth she had refused to acknowledge up until now.

The ravenette must've noticed Ann's face taking on an increasingly distressed expression and quickly raised a hand to halt any objections as a sign that she wasn't quite finished yet.

_Huh. She really wants to get this off her chest, doesn't she?_

"But that's only the background. The real problem, the issue that made me snap, was you, the school's unofficial idol talking about wanting to ditch what makes you unique in order to be like everyone else." Suzui-san threw her hands in the air exasperatedly, finally locking eyes with her. "My mind was blown. My world was turned upside-down. Screw paradoxes! So the 'ugly' strive to be beautiful in order to become like their 'beautiful' idols, while the 'beautiful' in turn strive to be ugly in order to be accepted by the 'ugly'? There's no point to such a yearning! It was too much for me to handle all at once and... sadly I reflexively took it out on you."

Having reached the end of her rambling, Suzui-san took a sip from her orange juice. "Anyway, that's pretty much my point of view", she declared.

Ann's jaw hung open. Reality had once again achieved the impossible: to one-up her worst fears: Every fibre of her being revolted against the thought of being idolized for something which had merely been given to her instead of something she had gained on her own accord. Above all else though, she felt incredibly helpless. If she truly had such a massively polarizing effect on people regardless of her own intentions, it could potentially ruin her entire life. She had no idea how to control an ability she didn't know she possessed before. And if even Suzui-san wasn't immune to it...

Said girl suddenly interrupted her train of thought. "I don't think you should do it."

"Huh?"

"Dyeing your hair. I think you should keep it the way it is." Suzui-san had her arms crossed and spoke with determination, without ever breaking eye contact. She seemed to have drawn her own conclusions while Ann had been busy pondering.

She sighed, feeling fatigue weighing down on her shoulders. "That's easy for you to say. I can't control my... charm." The word almost laced up her throat. "Suzui-san. Ever since I've become aware of them, I feel their glances. I feel every last one of them. The admiring. The curious. The dismissive. The objectifying. Every step of the way. As soon as I leave home, my sensors go off. When someone is staring at me, I feel uncomfortable. When nobody is staring at me, I'm anxiously expecting the next time someone will. I don't want that. I don't want any of that. And now you're saying my looks will basically prevent anyone I encounter from judging me unbiased? Seriously, I thought this couldn't get worse. And I have absolutely no control over it. I can't just 'turn it off'. So, the only way to resolve this stalemate is to eradicate the root of the problem."

"Sound reasoning", admitted the other. "But my issue with that decision goes a bit deeper." She leaned a bit closer and Ann was almost certain that her gaze had softened somewhat. "Takamaki-san,... you shouldn't be made to want to change your appearance. First and foremost, your unique appearance as an individual is a gift. Yet you are unable to see it that way because of the way many or most others treat you. In my mind, that's the real tragedy here. Not only is it impossible for you to further develop one of your greatest talents, but you have even been influenced to develop a negative opinion of it, so much so that you want to get rid of it. Takamaki-san,... you shouldn't try to change because you're forced to, but rather because you want to."

"I... can't quite follow-", Ann began slowly but Suzui-san wasn't done just yet.

"When you told me how you were unaware of the effect your looks had on others for the first time, I didn't believe you. But since then, I've come to adjust my opinion of you. Even though we were probably just scratching the surface in all our previous conversations, I now have a much clearer picture of you. If someone judges you before making an effort to get to know you, it's a sure fire way to tell they're not the kind of people whose opinion you have to give a damn about. Rather than trying to mend yourself to suit their tastes -an inevitably pointless endeavour- you could make an attempt to find out what _you_ want in life. If you stick to this path you'll eventually meet people who will be able to look beyond your outer appearance to discover and appreciate the real you."

Apparently Ann was destined to spend the majority of this particular day in varying states of shock or speechlessness. It took a whole minute for her to utter a simple 'Wow.' She definitely hadn't expected Suzui-san to have given the matter this much thought. Then again, she hadn't exactly expected her to be willing to hang out with her either. As for the words she'd said, they only faintly resonated with Ann. Especially that part about having to keep living like she had the past few weeks for an unspecified span of time until she would maybe meet the right people, send shivers down her spine.

_Now to explain this delicately..._

"Suzui-san", she began, fidgeting nervously in her seat. "First of all, I'm grateful for your advice and the passion in your words speaks for you-"

"But?"

"-_but_ I don't think that's how this sort of thing works. Choosing only people who 'get' you as your friends sounds wonderful, don't get me wrong. In fact, it sounds fantastic and I would love to do things this way, but I... I just think it's idealistic, meaning overly optimistic and unrealistic. I can't rely on fate or life or whatever to throw the right people my way and even if I made a conscious effort to find them there would be no guarantee for success." She noticed the other beginning to look rather dejected and pressed on with her argument, determined to make her understand. "Meanwhile I'm constantly suffering under gazes of strangers. And since I can't control my charms, their 'interest' in me won't subside for a good long while. Am I to feel permanently uneasy for possibly years while clinging to the vague hope of maybe someday discovering a rare gem of a person whom I actually stand a chance of convincing that there are other nice traits to me beside my visual appeal? That's-"

"You convinced _me._"

Ann's tirade was cut short by Suzui-san's simple remark.

"What?", she deadpanned.

"_I _believe, no- I _know _that there is more to you than meets the eye, that you're not this condescending princess with the undeserved good looks they peg you to be. You're a teenage girl simply trying to cope with the challenges of growing up. Just like the rest of us."

The other bit her lip and the two of them shared a long glance. Ann waited apprehensively. Her instincts warned her of an impending emotional gut-punch.

Suzui-san offered her hand. "You said you were searching for a friend. I'm volunteering", she said, casually.

For one tiny little petty colossal never-ending existential second, the world stood still. Which was the reason why it took Ann a second to realize how she was already clutching the ravenette's hand as if her life depended on it.

"Ow. Ow! Volunteering to be your friend, not your contestant in arm-wrestling!"

She snapped back to attention. "Ohmygosh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry Suzui-san-"

"Shiho. Call me Shiho." The girl looked at her expectantly.

Ann swallowed hard. "Shiho... ", she whispered. The name rolled smoothly off her tongue.

Shiho cracked a smile, the first Ann ever saw on her. "Is you crushing my hand a sign that you accept my offer?"

Finally, she was able to loosen her grip. Her composure hadn't recovered enough for a full sentence, though. "Ah, yes. Of course, I- ... sorry, my head feels woozy. Everything you said... it was, uh... I mean, I'm-"

"You're glad", Shiho guessed. She gripped Ann's hand with both of her own. "During your time as a misfit, a desire has been building up inside you. A desire to be accepted, to be understood, to hear a certain combination of words. And now that those words have been spoken, you feel so relieved you can barely believe it and a small part of you is afraid it might just be a dream while the rest is ascending to seventh heaven."

"That's... yeah, that's pretty much it." Ann blinked. This was going over her head. She had never encountered such a sharp sense of empathy before. "Okay, I have to ask this: How do you always know the right things to say?"

Shiho shrugged. "Honestly, I just told you what I wish someone would have said to me during my first weeks as a transfer student."

The implication dawned upon her. "But nobody did and you had to deal with it all on your own. Oh, Shiho..."

"That's in the past." Shiho gently squeezed her hand. "Officially, as of now. We'll go uphill from here. Oh, look. Our order's coming."

The same waitress from before brought a tablet with two plates rich with crepes, putting one on either side of the table. Ann felt her mouth watering up.

"This looks delicious."

"Then dig in. Let's seal this deal with a meal", Shiho quipped, equipping the slightly smug expression of all those who dare the other to laugh at their awful, awful pun. Instead, Ann felt a strange tugging at her heart strings. It was as if Shiho's words had disentangled a tight, suffocating knot in her belly. A knot which she hadn't been aware of but which had still impaired her on an emotional level nonetheless. With the obstacle out of the way, it all came back to her, exposing the rawest parts of her character undisguised to the world. She felt vulnerable... and incredibly relieved... and... and thankful-

At the first sign of Ann's tears, Shiho got up.

"Scoot over."

She sat down next to her and laid an arm around her, gently massaging her trembling shoulders.

"Shh, shh. It's alright. You won't suffer anymore. Not while you can rely on me... Ann."

The quarter-American girl held onto her new friend like a child while a repeated euphoric thought slowly caused her sobs to be replaced with giggles.

_I've found someone. I've found someone._

* * *

**November XXth, 20XX-1.**

_Two years of living in Japan and I still haven't mastered the art of walking faster than a tortoise when wearing a skirt!_

Ann made her way to the gym to meet up with Shiho, all the while trying her best to preserve her modesty.

_If I'm late for our lunch together because of this, I swear..._

Nearing the gym, it became apparent that she needn't have hurried. Audible yells and pangs send some clear indications.

_Huh? Are they training longer than usual?_

She risked taking a peek inside, only to have her suspicion confirmed: the entire volleyball team was still engaged in a match, punting a leather ball all across the field; passing, serving, spiking. And yelling. So much yelling.

Yeller number one was of course the coach, a middle-aged, jersey-wearing man with black hair and tree-trunk arms. _One of the PE-teachers_, she remembered. She had seen him before but never quite caught his name. _Ka-mo...Camouflage?_

Whatever his name was, he certainly knew how to push his team to the limit. From outside the court he assigned the players their next moves, berated them for any slip-ups and his voice never dropped below approximately 5.000 decibel. Relentless, he admonished his players to give their all and pray that it would be good enough -until he spotted Ann's head peeking through the slightly opened door. He was struck mute and his fierce expression disappeared behind the jovial mask of a satisfied trainer.

"All right! You've done enough for today! Now go get changed", he ordered the players, forcing them to abandon the game halfway through. Some of the students seemed a bit confused by this but far more of them just made their way to the changing rooms without so much as a glance back, as did Shiho.

Ann followed her best friend's retreat to the changing rooms with her eyes until a broad chest blocked her line of sight. The coach strode towards her, flashing his teeth. It was a fake smile. She knew that much. Heck, her parents had her work as a model. She had seen borderline perfect fake smiles and this wasn't one of them. Too wide. Too openly friendly.

"And who might you be?", he asked, hands on his hips, chest thrust forward.

"Uh, Ann Takamaki, sir. From class 1-D." She bowed briefly.

"Takamaki? Now if that name doesn't ring a bell..." His face lit up. "Oh! I know! You're a model, aren't you? I saw you on the cover of my favourite sports magazine."

Ann laughed sheepishly, twirling one of her long pigtails. "Heh, yeah. That was a classic case of miscasting, sadly. I'm not that much into sports to be honest."

He shrugged. "Shame, we're always open for newcomers. But what brings you here, then?"

His eyes remained fixed on her, studying her frame. Ann glanced at the door leading to the girls' changing room. Shiho was nowhere in sight. "I'm looking for my friend. We wanted to meet up here at around this time, but when I arrived you were still training and I ended up barging in. Will you be doing overtime more often as of now?"

The teacher nodded proudly. "We will indeed. The Volleyball championships are coming up and I plan on rocking it there. So we're just getting started with training. After all, with our famous track team gone, it hinges entirely on us to earn this school some fame."

All of a sudden Ann had no trouble remembering his name when she discovered the faint leftovers of a big purple bruise surrounding his left eye. Suguru Kamoshida. Former coach of the track team and the man who broke Ryuji's -no, Sakamoto's leg when he attacked him.

Shiho was among the first to leave the girls ' changing room. She almost ran to them, gave Kamoshida a breathless 'Goodbye, coach' and dragged Ann outside.

"Hope to see you again, Takamaki", was the last they heard from the teacher.

She had trouble keeping up with her friend who apparently wanted to gain as much distance to the gym as possible.

"Shiho! Slow down please", she hissed when she felt the ends of her skirt brush dangerously high against her thighs.

Her friend snapped back to reality and the sight of the other girl's terrible crisis got an amused snort out of her. Flushed cheeks notwithstanding, Ann put on her best pouting face which never failed its purpose of making others laugh. This time however, it merely earned her a meagre smile.

"Two years, Ann. Two years."

"I know. You wouldn't believe how embarrassing this is for me."

"There are only two solutions to this problem: either continued practice or wearing tights."

Ann scowled in disdain. "The only tights I own were a gift from my mom. They are red, Shiho. The brightest red you can imagine. Putting them on would be the ultimate sign that I don't care anymore what people think about me." She joined her friend. "Whoa, what happened to you?"

Shiho instinctively reached for her forehead, covering the big purple bruise Ann referred to with her hand.

"Oh, that, uh... that's just the result of a misguided attempt to block a spike with my face", she joked.

"Does it hurt? It looks nasty."

The other forced a smile. "It's fine. Besides, with the championships approaching, I'm prepared to endure worse."

"Oh?" Ann cooed. "Does that mean my bestie has earned herself a starter position?"

"Yes, she has. You may now tell her how awesome she is", Shiho challenged with a daring grin.

"I would, but I'm afraid I've said it so many times already she's grown tired of it", she shot back, happy to see the fatigue vanish from Shiho's eyes. She pushed the bothersome thoughts of skirts, PE-teachers and bruises aside and laid an arm around her friend. "C'mon, we have to celebrate this."

* * *

The championships came and went. Shujin's volleyball team performed exceptionally well, earning the school some much needed praise. Kamoshida became its official athletic paragon. Ann considered this to be good news since success and fame for the volleyball team equalled a happy and energetic Shiho. Both girls passed the final exams and made it to second grade. However, in the last days of old year of school, Shiho began to lose her fire. Every occasion of practice with the volleyball team seemed to cost her a tremendous amount of energy and there was barely a day Ann saw her without some kind of bruise or plaster or bandaged injuries. When she tried to care for her friend by meeting up with her more often after training had concluded, the bitter truth hadn't dawned upon her yet. Kamoshida-sensei seemed always glad to see her, chatted with her and would even invite her out at some point. She would always decline and he never particularly pressed the issue but also never disguised his displeasure. The day afterwards, Shiho would always show up with more injuries and bruises than usual. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

Her first impulse wasn't one of disgust for the teacher mistreating the children in his care, but one of guilt: _she _was the reason for Shiho's wounds, _she _caused her to suffer; her best friend was being mistreated because her coach had developed a fatal attraction towards Ann. And once again the root of the problem was her inability to control her charms. But contrary to what she had experienced two years prior, this time someone else was made to suffer for her shortcomings which made the entire thing ten times worse.

Additionally, she began to pick up on clues indicating that the coach treated all of his team members similarly and that none of them would dare back her up if she were to openly speak about it, making her look like a crazy chick throwing accusations around like no one's business.

She grew reluctant to outright refuse Kamoshida's advances and he was quick to pick up on her crumbling resistance. Eventually, on one loathsome day she slipped up and one of her evasive answers transformed into some sort of half-confirmation. The damage was done. Kamoshida was thrilled and she knew she had no choice but to let him take her out for dinner or else who knew what he would do to Shiho. He didn't try anything funny that evening. Didn't touch her. Didn't talk to her. He just stared at her, consuming her with his eyes while she struggled to eat something. As if she were a trophy made to be admired and polished, not to be touched. Lo and behold, by the next morning, the entire school knew about this incident and rumours were had a plenty. Shiho paid them no mind, thank goodness, but to the rest of the student body Ann became a more or less openly detestable flirt.

She couldn't have cared less about their opinion, knowing that none of them would be able to help her situation. Even the other teachers and the parents did not object to Kamoshida's continued abuse of the volleyball team. She could only do her part to keep her closest friend safe.

It was as if someone had taken a look at Ann's previous struggles, deemed them not taxing enough yet and decided to up the ante. And when she caught Kamoshida trying to get a glimpse at her underwear on the stairs, she snapped and left school during lunch break.

She returned wearing bright red tights and a white full zip hooded sweatshirt beneath the standard black Shujin blazer. Her entire class gawked, but nobody dared to say a word. Not out loud, that is. As she sat down behind her desk, she could almost feel the gossip spreading through the entire school and found again that she didn't care one bit.

These people didn't know her or her motivations. Their assumptions were wrong. And the stuff they were saying...

"Lies", she murmured, staring out the window.

* * *

**April 9th, 20XX. Saturday.**

"Yo!"

Ann choked on her carbon-free drink when someone bashed their hand against the vending machine next to her. Coughing she turned around to face a vulgar-looking boy her age with short eyebrows and an angry expression. What most caught her attention though, was his hair: a fuzzy mop of bright, aggressive yellow colour. She stared blankly at him. "Who are you?"

His eyes twitched, but he answered quickly to cover the notion. "Ryuji Sakamoto. Remember? From middle school?"

Oh. Him.

"Wow, what did your hair do to deserve this kind of treatment?"

He handwaved the question. "Doesn't matter. I ain't here for chit-chat." Leaning in closer, his voice took on a pressing tone: "There are rumours goin' around the school about you and Kamoshida. What's up with that?"

She took another sip from the can, deliberately denying him the eye contact. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't gimme that crap!" The vending machine suffered another blow. So he still had a short fuse.

Regretting his outburst, Sakamoto leaned in again, straining himself to sound softer: "Look, I know that bastard's up to some shady stuff an' I don't think you would do as he pleased if things were goin' your way, so... if he's, you know, blackmailin' you or something like that, you can tell me. I'd believe you." he noticed her glancing nervously around. "Don't worry, ain't no curious ears around-" he started.

But Ann saw the subtler signs: a group of girls huddled in the corner of the courtyard, pointing fingers at them and gossiping secretly. Her blood ran cold. If by some contrived misfortune Kamoshida got news of her having a suspicious conversation with his most hated student...

All risks of Shiho getting injured needed to be erased. She had to end this conversation instantly.

She grabbed Sakamoto by the collar and proceeded to stare him down with all the ferocity she could muster.

She spoke quickly and firmly: "Listen, there's nothing fishy going on. I don't need your help and I don't want it either. The greatest favour you can do me is to mind your own damn business!"

His eyes flared with constant rage but whether he was angry at her, Kamoshida or something else she couldn't tell. Struggling to keep his composure, he muttered: "Are you sayin' that because-"

"I'm not just saying that because we're at school", she hissed. "Forget all about this and leave me alone!"

She let go of his shirt and left him there, hurrying to get back to her classroom.

Only during the next period did it occur to her that she might have overdone it and accidentally taken out her own frustration on him, which gave her yet another reason to feel bad. Yet Ann knew that she would have to put up with this and a lot more in the weeks to come. She was prepared to suffer.

She had chosen to protect Shiho and she would stand by that choice no matter what.


	6. Start from Scratch

Chapter 6: Start from Scratch

**April 9th, 20XX. Saturday. Afternoon.**

Tokyo.

The glorious global city.

A population of 13.4 million inhabitants condensed in an area of 622 square kilometres. Dozens of skyscrapers towering high above thousands of streets, avenues and alleys of all shapes and sizes.

Capital of Japan. One of the most futuristic cities in the world, housing the seat of the Japanese government, the National Diet and 51 of the world's most influential global companies.

With the entire area of the metropolitan prefecture consisting of 23 vast districts, the wider 'Tokyo Prefecture' boasted even more incredible numbers and sights. Adachi, Edogawa and Shinjuku were names that made even people overseas perk up. All these traits merged together to create a marvellous monument of modern civilization from a select few of already remarkable details.

Shibuya, for example, was primarily known for its vivid nightlife. Less so for its amazingly uncomfortable subway rides: Just like most other trains in Tokyo, every square inch of space counted when it came to moving parts of the (over-)population via the wagons of the Underground Railroad. So much so, that some particularly well-visited stations had their own staff teams responsible for firstly, directing the mash of human bodies leaving the wagons towards the various exits and secondly, for shoving as many new passengers as possible into the aforementioned vehicles.

The station titled 'Yongen-Jaya' didn't have this particular problem, since even though the lines running were almost always used to maximum capacity, only a fraction of those people ever possessed a reason to set foot there. Which made the overabundance of humanoid creatures leaving this most recent train quite baffling.

The mass of grey, black or brown suits, blazers and suitcases, freed from the tight confinements of their transport, flooded the platform. Grey shapes waltzed towards the exit, dragging their feet. Any unlucky individual trying to hurry faster than the sentient flood was slowed down and any slow walkers were pulled along until the entire blob moved at the same, tired speed.

The wave soon split into three smaller groups, only one of which went towards the backstreets. About three dozen grey dots left the station together.

Once outside, they separated one by one going their own ways. All of them, save for a small, unassuming black dot who stayed frozen in place for a brief instance before picking up the pace and using his newly attained freedom from the crowd to wander a path he apparently wasn't familiar with. Having stopped at multiple corners in the maze of confusing alleyways, he eventually arrived at a rather run-down house only to resume walking after multiple fruitless tries with the doorbell.

The sun already began to set when the little black dot reached his destination: an unremarkable two-stories building with unclean windows and red-and-white striped awnings sporting a fading inscription: _Café Leblanc_.

The single black dot seemed to have second thoughts for a while but eventually proceeded to pull the knob on the old red door, causing the 'open'-sign on it to sway leisurely.

* * *

The chime of a bell introduced Akira Kurusu to his new stay: a rustic -looking coffee shop of very restricted proportions. The booths to his left might have looked inviting and cosy, perfect for gathering friends around, if it hadn't been for the many, many old stains on the flat cushions. Moreover, the whole place screamed negligence. Dusty glasses full of coffee beans; an old, rarely cleaned counter made of dark wood both indicated a very relaxed handling of hygiene measures.

About the only impressive thing about Café Leblanc was the smell. A thick, strong scent of heated bean water with some hints of spice sprinkled throughout filled every corner of the single room that made up the ground floor. The atmosphere consisted entirely of the odour originating from every Italian's favourite drink. Akira felt the heavy air make its way down his throat to seal his lungs. He suppressed an involuntary cough.

The cafe was also staggeringly empty for an afternoon, a.k.a. the time all employees without a coffee machine at home made mad dashes for the next coffee shop to get their daily dose. The only customers present were an elderly couple watching TV, occasionally sipping from their mugs. Meanwhile, a bespectacled man in his late forties or early fifties sat on a bar stool with his back to the counter, filling the gaps of a crossword puzzle. He wore a black apron over a pink shirt and beige trousers. The goatee of his chinstrap beard, as black as his slicked-back hair, moved constantly as his lips formed words without lending them any sound. Of the three, he looked the most like a staff member, but strangely enough he didn't even lift his head when the bell rang. Neither did the other two. Akira stayed in the doorway, silent, knowing someone would eventually acknowledge his presence.

Amicably, the elderly couple continued to discuss the TV news about the accident of a public transit bus while the man, probably the owner or manager of the Cafe, stared into the distance, searching for the next word. Only then, almost as if by chance, did he notice Akira.

"Oh, right. They did say that was today", he mumbled. Sitting his crossword aside, he got up from the stool as his customers picked this very moment to leave. As soon as the door had closed behind them, he gave an annoyed sigh. "Four hours for just a single cup of joe ", he muttered in a 'Lord-bless-me-with-patience' -tone before eyeing up the teen."So, you're the guy?"

"Akira Kurusu. I'll be in your care." He kept his voice low, just loud enough to be audible at this short distance. Furthermore, he didn't make eye contact, focusing instead on a point way down: the manager's white loafers. He didn't see him nod.

"Uh-huh. I'm Sojiro Sakura, you'll be in my custody over the next year." He examined Akira once more from head to toe as if suspecting an error. "Honestly, I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but it's just you, huh? Whatever, follow me."

With that, Sakura-san concluded their introduction session and made his way to the other end of the shop. Akira followed him along the counter and past the restroom to a set of tight old wooden stairs going up. With a brief glance into the now desolated Cafe, he began ascending to the location where he would be living for the next year.

The creaking, squeaking stairs le to the messiest attic Akira had ever seen. To his left, an old smelly shelf carried some sacks filled with expired plant nutrients. Next to it a messy, dirty sofa and a workbench held an army of books which looked to be ancient. Parts of the floor were just littered with junk; any free space remaining was smeared with dirt. The ceiling practically disappeared behind a carpet of carefully woven cobwebs. Every last piece of furniture was covered with a prominent blanket of dust. In fact, if the windows at the far end of the room hadn't been so dirty, the intruding sunlight would probably have revealed a myriad of dust particles dancing in the air. Akira tried not to think about how many of those particles he was currently sucking in through his nostrils with every breath.

"This is your room", Sakura-san said without any hint of irony or embarrassment in his voice. "I'll bring you some sheets for your bed at least." He noticed the teen's wary expression. "Got anything to say?"

Akira denied with a single shake of his head.

"Hm. It's up to you to clean up the rest. As for the ground rules..." Sakura-san turned to face his 'guest'. "I'll lock up every day after leaving so you'll be alone. But don't do anything stupid. I'll throw you out the instant you cause trouble. I've gotten the gist of your situation. There were some complications with the law after you injured someone and your parents wanted to deal neither with those nor you so they got rid of you."

Sakura-san's smile rivalled that of a cat in terms of smug- and slyness. "That's what you get for sticking your nose in adult matters. You can't afford a single report of disorderly behaviour this year, so I'd suggest you should behave. Anyway, we are scheduled to meet up with some of the staff of Shujin Academy tomorrow. You know, the school you just transferred to? I'll drive you there so get up early tomorrow, all right? That'll be all."

Sakura-san descended the stairs without another word and left him amidst the dust and dirt.

Experimentally, Akira drew a line in the dust on the blank table and turned his wrist. His fingertip had turned _black_. He sighed deeply.

Seriously, how much must one lower one's expectations to guarantee that one won't be disappointed anymore?

A large cardboard box next to the table caught his eye. Luggage full of clothes which his parents had sent here prior to his arrival.

He wasted no time to exchange the unfamiliar uniform for a more comfortable attire. The feeling of his old clothes served to calm him somewhat and he proceeded to throw himself into his work of cleaning this junkyard of a room and make it suitable for human beings to live in again. Partly because Sakura-san had said so and Akira certainly didn't have anything better to do, but also to keep himself from thinking too much. His transfer to Shujin was in many ways an amazing chance, but it also stirred up reflections on his future, which was probably going to be miserable, rehabilitation notwithstanding, and his past, which consisted of memories tainted by the misery of his current situation.

All of that could wait. He wasn't ready to deal with it right now. Thankfully, there was more than enough work to distract him plenty.

Akira started with the less taxing tasks. He couldn't hope to de-clutter the workbench or improve on the situation of the ladders and the broken bicycle in this soiled attic -_his_ soiled attic- right now, but Leblanc stored basic cleaning tools and he arranged for a bucket of water.

Thus the cobwebs were first to go.

Then a thorough cleansing of the miserable ground, the table and the sofa.

Returning the cleaning utensils and storing his luggage in the lesser burdened of the two shelves in the room.

Last but not least, he applied fresh sheets to the bed in the further right corner which at first glance had made him shiver with disgust, but by now looked fairly decent. The mattress was fine too. He wouldn't have to worry about getting a stiff back at least.

"This... doesn't look half bad", Sakura-san muttered when he came up to look what all the rummaging was about. He had a hint of recognition in his eyes, as he inspected the now vastly improved state of the room. But once he regarded Akira, his expression turned strict again. "That's quite enough for now. I'm closing up shop so you should think about heading to bed soon, seeing how late it is. And don't forget to get up early tomorrow." He left without so much as a goodbye.

Indifferent, Akira changed into his pyjamas and stretched himself out on his new bed.

Mission success. He had distracted his brain all day long. Now all that was left for him to do was to fall asleep quickly before he started thinking too much.

Don't think.

Don't think.

Don't think.

Just sleep.

...

Dammit.

Pictures from _that_ evening began to pop up in his mind and he hastily reached for his phone. He needed another distraction, quick. Luckily, his pocket computer provided one, albeit not in the sense he had imagined: a big, pulsating eye symbol with a red and black colour scheme covered almost the entire screen.

Akira's eyes narrowed. He had seen this symbol before. Shortly after leaving Yongen-Jaya station, it had appeared on his display out of nowhere. Following that point, his memories were blurry. He remembered to have pressed the icon experimentally and then there were only a couple of unsettling images: the crowd around him, frozen in their tracks. And a towering figure engulfed in blue flames grinning mischievously at him. When he had come to all the people around him were moving again and no one besides him seemed to have noticed anything. However, he remembered distinctly to have chucked the spooky app into the bin after that scenario, just to be safe. As such, for it to reappear so nonchalantly was a bit weird to say the least.

Akira guided the icon down the screen and watched it getting sucked into the basket once more. He then plugged his phone to charge over the night when he felt sleep overcome him. The strange symbol had taken his mind off his misery long enough for his thoughts to calm down and he fell fast asleep. The last stirs of his consciousness remained blissfully empty and emotionless.

* * *

**April 10th, 20XX. Sunday. Evening.**

Probation Diary Entry Nr. 1

-Meeting with the staff of Shujin Academy: Principal Kobayakawa and Ms. Kawakami, homeroom teacher of class 2-D, my new class.

The principal and my guardian, Sakura-san, emphasized multiple times how dire my situation is and that I will be expelled for the smallest misstep. I agreed with everything they said, whereupon I was handed my student ID and ordered to meet up with Kawakami-sensei at the faculty office on Monday before class begins.

-Being stuck in traffic

On our way back to Leblanc, Sakura-san and I got stuck in traffic. Mildly irked by this, he told me I would have to take the train from tomorrow on. The radio announced a heavy accident in the railway system which presumably caused the overabundance of vehicles on the roads. I asked Sakura-san what motivated him to take me in. He answered evasively, stating that a customer of his and my parents knew each other and that he had been paid money to do it.

-Acquiring my Probation Diary

We didn't arrive at Leblanc until the evening and Sakura-san lamented having missed out on a day's worth of customers. He gave me my Probation Diary and instructed me to write down all important occurrences of today and every day thereafter until my probation period comes to an end. He also took the opportunity to remind me yet again of my insecure position but was interrupted in his lecturing by a sudden phone call. The caller urged him to come see him/ her (although probably her), which Sakura-san gladly obliged to.

-Flipping the store sign

Sakura-san called Leblanc's public pay phone and asked me to flip the store sign since he had forgotten about it. Upon my curious inquiry as to why he didn't call me directly, he responded with: 'I make it a habit not to save guys' numbers' and broke up the call. I heeded his request and then went straight to bed.

* * *

**April 11th, 20XX. Monday. Morning.**

Akira pulled the black blazer over his white turtleneck shirt and started buttoning it up. The uniform still didn't sit quite well with him. In many ways it had become a symbol for his difficult situation and served as a constant reminder of the cramped conditions restraining him like invisible strings. Still, he had no choice but to wear it as orderly as possible. He couldn't afford to even be suspected of violating the school protocol. Aside from the teachers, nobody had been informed about his criminal record, meaning he could maybe get through the entire year without incident if he behaved well. Living an honest student life was the only way to complete his rehabilitation and hopefully fit in with society again. Akira was determined not to let anyone find a reason to complain about his behaviour. And he would start his winning spree by arriving on time at the faculty office to meet up with Ms. Kawakami. To that end, he had memorized the route to Shujin Academy: First take the train from Yongen-Jaya to Shibuya Central Station, where he would have to change to the Ginza Line and get off at Aoyama-Itchome followed by a short distance on foot.

"Hey, are you up already?", a grumpy voice called from downstairs. "You should get going soon."

Quickly putting on his glasses, Akira immediately descended the stairs; bag in hand, rather than responding verbally.

There were no customers yet. Sakura-san stood behind the counter, gesturing for the teen to sit down on a stool facing a glass of water, a spoon and... a plate of beans and rice on hot sauce.

Akira must've stared a little too hard.

"Yes, curry for breakfast", his guardian said curtly. "Eat up, golden spoon."

Akira caught the train from Yongen to Shibuya with ease. Catching the Ginza Line to Aoyama-Itchome proved a bit more difficult but he managed to manage. Wedged tightly in between the mass of bodies, any means on which to hold onto were out of his reach. Consequently, every bump in the tracks led to him being thrown against his peers or the train doors.

Soon, he had grown used to it and the continued vibrations of the train lulled him into a comfortable daze.

He hadn't slept very well these last two days. Partly to blame for this was probably the fact that even the beds in juvie had possessed more humane qualities than his current one. But there was more to the recovering effect of Morpheus' embrace being lost on him. Whenever Akira thought back to his first night in the attic, an inexplicable foreboding feeling send shivers down his spine. He had dreamed that night, but of whom or what he couldn't tell. Only two words had stuck with him: 'rehabilitation' and 'ruin', alongside some catchy operatic tune.

But despite the term 'ruin' awaking no more than a faint sense of dread in him, 'rehabilitation' constantly lingered in his mind. Although he had not the slightest idea why. The 'rehabilitation his dream had spoken of appeared to be of a nature complementary to what Shujin Academy's program tried to achieve with him. Similar, yet different. Not that it mattered. Evaluating what kind of rehabilitation he wanted to achieve was secondary to deciding whether it was worth it or not.

The train ran over a greater bump in the tracks and Akira caught an elbow to the ribs. He barely felt it. His thoughts had sneaked their way back to the topic guaranteed to push him to the brink of the next crisis: Was completing his rehabilitation in order to be accepted by society again really such a desirable goal if said society had proven itself to be massively flawed? Akira had spent the majority of his free time coming up with always new distractions to avoid thinking about this question too much since it put him in a lose-lose-situation. Knowing about the shortcomings of society, e.g. someone in a position of power being allowed to have an innocent sentenced on false charges, meant he was confronted with a choice: Either to go along with everything society and the adults demanded of him which would maybe enable him to return to his old life at the cost of having to turn a blind eye to their corruption and never once go against any of their orders again; or to wear his disapproval for the whole world to see which would please his sense of justice and incidentally condemn him to a life as a shunned outcast forever. Needless to say, Akira liked neither option and the sentiment that each train of thought would eventually lead him to question absolutely everything and rob him of the few convictions he had left, only further enhanced his unwillingness to let these thoughts get to him.

Thus he opted for the third choice. He pretended not to know about any of this and do as he was told hoping that the life of a dependent citizen which he had been perfectly fine with up until one month ago, would return by itself.

He didn't want to choose. In fact, he wanted anything but.

Abruptly, Akira awoke from his dazed state just in time to hear an electronic voice announce: "Aoyama-Itchome. This is Aoyama-Itchome."

Hissing, the doors gave way for the flood to spread out on the station with Akira tumbling among it. Once the crowd separated, he took a moment to adapt and headed straight for the exit leading towards the Shujin school grounds. Still preoccupied with trying not to think, he didn't notice the rain until he walked right into it.

Soft lines of water descended from the blanket of grey clouds above, sending all the people without an umbrella into a frenzy. Teenagers in Shujin uniforms, bags over their heads, passed by Akira who took cover beneath the awnings of a nearby clothing store. Watching the rain intensify, he pulled out his phone. Since he had no umbrella, he would have to memorize the route meticulously else he risked arriving at Shujin completely soaked.

Rather unsurprisingly, he was greeted with the sight of a familiar eye-resembling icon covering the screen. His lips twitched briefly. Deleting the strange app at least once a day had become somewhat of a habit for him, since it insisted on popping up on his phone. He was just about to kick it to the bin again when the rain drove someone else to seek refuge next to him.

The figure instantly caught his attention for their unconventional getup as the newcomer reached for their soaked hood. Retreating cloth released a swirl of majestic platinum blonde hair worn in two long pigtails. Freed from the confinement of the hood, they fell left and right over her black Shujin blazer which, in combination with her red plaid skirt, appeared to be the only pieces of the scripted school uniform she wore, seeing how her legs were covered by a pair of bright red tights above brown boots with yellow laces. Her white hood sported a green four-leaf clover emblem and belonged to a fullzip white sweatshirt.

All of a sudden, Akira became very aware of his own unkempt black mop of a haircut and generic way of dressing. Next to this girl who radiated charm and had no trouble standing out, he felt painfully average.

The blonde gave the unrelenting rain a worried look before glancing at Akira.

Her face was perfectly symmetrical, featuring a slightly stubby nose and well-proportioned cheeks. She wore no lipstick, presumably because if she did, her lips would have posed too much of a temptation for anyone to handle. Two shining pearls of exquisite aqua blue colour, a far cry from the brown or black eyes of most Japanese, completed the package of her natural beauty. She was positively stunning. Literally. With his eyeballs having gone dry from all the staring, Akira's eyelids insistently urged him to blink.

The girl gave him half a smile and broke eye contact when a car rolled up to them.

A descending window revealed the driver to be a middle-aged man in a blue trench coat. His youthful face showed a jovial smile as he addressed her.

"Hey, need a lift?"

"Oh, sure." Faltering, the fair-skinned fabulous foreigner took him up on the offer.

"What about you?", the man asked while she got in.

Reflexively, Akira declined. Getting into a stranger's car on his first earnest day on probation didn't seem like a good idea to him. The girl looked to be familiar with the helpful driver, but as the car drove off he was pretty sure he saw her expression grow a little pained.

Rapid splashes grew audible in the distance just as the car picked up the pace, driving out of reach. A boy with yellow hair came to a screeching halt in front of Akira. Panting, he followed the departing vehicle with his eyes until it merged with completely with the traffic. Having indefinitely missed his target, the guy growled in frustration and stomped his foot on the ground.

"Dammit! Screw that pervy teacher!"

"A... pervert?"

Akira was instantly put on edge. As every adult he had met in this city so far had told him with unrelenting vigour, he couldn't afford to draw any attention and with his previous experiences the teen was sure they would find a way to fail him if they so much as read his name and the P-word in the same paragraph of an anonymous e-mail written by Mr. or Ms. Snitch McRandom. He immediately knew that he didn't want to be anywhere this guy.

Unfortunately, the blonde had heard him already. "What? Are you after Kamoshida too?"

Akira, looking down, tensed internally as the stranger, whose unusually short eyebrows gave his face the expression of a permanent angry frown, scrutinized him. With his thumbs in his pockets, he looked very much like a stereotypical thug and didn't seem to mind it at all.

A confused look was Akira's best response.

"In that car just now. That was Kamoshida." The vulgar boy approached him impatiently. He walked bow-legged. The mere mention of that name caused him to snap. "Who does that guy think he is? Some king of a castle?"

Akira decided to meme the clueless idiot. He needed to get out of this conversation ASAP. "What castle?"

His phone chimed. He ignored it.

Confusion replaced the rage in the other's eyes. "You know that's just a sayin', right? Some kinda metaphor?"

Blondie examined him once more, unable to tell whether Akira was kidding him or being for real. "Hang on, you don't know who Kamoshida is, but you're from Shujin, right? You're wearin' the uniform." The boy yanked at his own unbuttoned black blazer being worn over a bright yellow definitely prohibited shirt with a big red star icon and the word 'ZOMG!' on it. The suspenders of his pants hung down from his belt, unused. "You a transfer student, then?"

Meticulously examining his opponent's shoes -white sneakers with the infamous motif of the rising sun- , Akira nodded.

"Strugglin' to find the way to school, eh?" The boy sent one last glance in the direction the car had taken off in before shaking his head. "Whatever. This rain ain't too bad. But we'll have to take the back alleys if we wanna get there on time", he said and strolled into a narrow passageway next to the clothing store as if he were doing this every day. "C'mon, let's get goin'."

Akira followed him, reasoning that this was a sure fire way to be on time and besides, knowing a shortcut to school might prove useful in the future. He kept his distance however, ensuring that no one at the school entrance would see him arrive at the same time as what he had come to assume was a seriously troubled student.

The route was mostly one way and Akira eagerly memorized the few turns they took, phone in hand. Suddenly he felt his left foot grow cold and looked down to find that his sock and shoe drenched in water. He must've stepped in a puddle, but why hadn't he noticed-

Splash.

Akira turned. His eyes grew wide.

A few steps behind him, circular waves disturbed the surface of a puddle surrounding a very distinctly visible imprint of the sole of a shoe. Just like the sound of the splash, the timing of the waves was delayed and the imprint disappeared far too slowly.

He had two seconds to gawk at it before a hot needle pierced his skull. Akira hissed. Just as he squeezed his eyes shut, the pain subsided and his gaze fell upon his phone.

His stomach turned. He had forgotten to delete the app. Its weird icon stared at him from the display. It had grown in size, covering the entire screen... and more. The red and black colour scheme now featured glittering lines in all colours of the rainbow which had left the confines of his phone's casing to weave into the fabric of reality.

Akira's legs were noodles. His breaths came in irregular intervals. Was he hallucinating again? Was this another strange dream? That had to be it, right? He was probably still in bed and-

A voice came from up front, yoinking hope away from him.

"What the eff?"

Forcing himself to remember how walking was done by setting one foot in front of another, Akira caught up to his temporary companion, reassembling his composure as he did.

So, this was real after all. What exactly did that mean?

He exited the passageway and joined the blonde teen in his gawking at what it gave way to.

An absolute impossibility that left both of them speechless.

"Maybe we... made a wrong turn?" Akira suggested weakly.

Blondie slowly shook his head. "No way, man. I've taken that route a buttload of times before and this exit always leads directly to the entrance of the school." He gulped, realizing the implication of his own statement. "So,... this must be it. S'pose we'll just have to go in."

Akira's careful and meticulous split-second 'What-the-hell-is-going-on-here'-analysis commented on how this was the worst idea anyone had ever presented to him. But his foul mouthed guide apparently only knew how to go in one direction -forwards- and made his way to the open gate that welcomed them to the vast interior of a building that by all means couldn't be there.

That was stupid of _him_.

It was stupid of _Akira _to follow the stupid.

They entered an entrance hall the size of a huge yacht and equipped with almost as much luxury. Pillars of marble held a mighty ceiling decked out with detailed ornaments. Three huge chandeliers illuminated the scenery. Red carpet led to a set of stairs leading to the pompous picture of a knight in shining armour bravely swinging his sword against unseen foes and further upwards to the first level. The floor was made of more marble and the luxurious environment sported many accents of what looked to be pure gold. But whenever Akira tried to focus on a single detail, the whole scenery temporarily blurred. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a continually dis- and reappearing pamphlet stuck to the left wall, detailing some sort of schedule, but he was never able to get a clear look and the attempt soon gave him headaches.

"What IS this? Where are we?", Blondie asked loudly. The other student was even more confused than him and kept glancing around as if he expected someone to come busting through one of the gates at the east or west end of the hall and yell: 'It's just a prank, bro!'

Instead, they heard the sound of a cupboard of cutlery being emptied out on the ground. Out of nowhere, a two meters tall figure approached them. It wore the ironclad full body armour of a medieval knight and rattled like a jar of yen with every heavy step it took. The entity had donned an expressionless mask, was equipped with a long broadsword and visibly not human. Just looking at it gave Akira the chills.

The blonde guy walked right up to it, showing no sign of panic whatsoever. "Hey, you a student? Don't think I've seen you around here before."

Hollow eye slits stared at him, refusing motion, while a second 'knight' stomped into view.

"Whoa, those outfits are pretty rad. You guys havin' a costume party?"

Akira's philantropic side wanted to award the vulgar boy the title of 'most courageous adolescent on earth'. His sensible side meanwhile, detected astonishing measurements of plain idiocy in the room.

The first knight ultimately broke the stalemate. A voice like thunder shook the room: "INTRUDERS!"

Pale as a ghost, the blonde mouthed a single word to Akira: Run. He obliged, spun on his heels-

-and ran smack dab into a third knight who had somehow managed to come up behind him without him noticing.

The creature brought down its shield arm and everything went black.

* * *

"Hey! Hey, wake up! C'mon!"

The voice Akira awoke to made him want to go unconscious again. So it hadn't been a dream after all. The castle, the guards, the weird app. It was all real. The supernatural did exist and he had stumbled right into it by accident. What were the odds?

Groaning, he straightened up. He laid on a plank bed, basically just a rock hard piece of wood with a rugged sheet thrown over it. The walls to his sides, as well as the solid iron bars and locked door in front of him led his aching head to conclude that the guards had thrown him in a cell. Not one of those cells he was used to from juvie, mind. This one had more of a dungeon aesthetic to it. Red bricks made up the walls, old fashioned wooden barrels stood around and every now and again a drop of water descended from the low ceiling.

Cold, restraining and uncomfortable. Strangely, it reminded him very much of Leblanc's attic. The vulgar boy looking worriedly at him posed the only major difference.

"So, uh, you alright?"

Akira hummed affirmatively.

Temporary relief softened the features of the other student, but all too soon his eyes regained that strange, driven look.

Brimming with energy, he paced away from Akira. "Okay. Next. I dunno if this is some kinda dream or prank or whatever but I_ do_ know they don't have the right to keep us here." He banged against the iron bars and yelled into the corridor. "You hear me, you bastards? I said let me out!"

A bloodcurdling scream of pure agony answered him from somewhere deep down in the catacombs. Its tone and volume let pictures of nightmarish nature spring to mind. Both teens simultaneously laid eyes upon the chains and handcuffs hanging on the wall of the cell. Then the blonde redoubled his efforts to beat away at the iron bars. The sight reminded Akira heavily of a certain other unfairly imprisoned adolescent who had once tried to escape the inevitable in a similar fashion.

He felt utterly miserable. The beehive of his mind buzzed with the implications of their discovery while his innards entangled themselves with fear. His frame shook like a leaf.

Clanking foot stomps disrupted his impending hyperventilation. Three armoured colossi -a swordsman and two spearmen- took up position in front of the cell.

The swordsman stepped forward. The empty slits of his expressionless mask targeted the teens.

"Be grateful that your fate has been decided upon", the creature spat condescendingly. "Your crime is 'unlawful empty'. The sentence is death."

Death?

Akira's heart skipped a beat.

Even the standoffish blonde couldn't keep his voice from ascending an octave. "Who decided that?"

"Me", a throaty voice stated, matter-of-fact.

Giving way, the knights bowed their plated heads respectfully for the figure of a human-sized man striding past them. In some ways it seemed truly astounding to Akira how the shape could carry itself with such unwavering confidence, seeing how it wore only three pieces of clothing including its brown half-shoes. A luscious red cape with small pink heart symbols covered its broad shoulders and entire upper body but stopped short at the thighs. Unfortunately, that is. The entity wore no pants, presenting the natural delicacy of its muscular legs, to the world. Worst of all, however, was the thong. The enticing undergarment barely covered the private area and was of bright pink colour, aggressively drawing the gaze of every onlooker to this one specific spot.

Out of all the crazy stuff Akira had seen today, this thing had to be the most bizarre.

With immense difficulty, he darted his eyes upwards. The creature's face featured a mushroom-looking black mop of hair accented by a tiny golden crown, abnormal yellow eyes and a toothy grin. Its big nose and distinct chin awoke a faint sentiment of déjà-vu within him.

His hunch got confirmed when the blonde and the entity confirmed each other's names.

"Kamoshida?" His cellmate almost dislocated his jaw.

"Sakamoto", the half-naked man leaned as close to him as the barrier allowed.

The boy named Sakamoto took a step back. All his energy depleted in the face of this adversary.

"You disobey me once again. Lashing out against me, the king. In my own castle, no less. It seems you haven't your lesson, hm?" Kamoshida spoke slowly, enjoying how his words caused the boy to shake in his boots.

"...asshole", murmured Sakamoto awkwardly.

Kamoshida went from chilled sadist with questionable fashion sense to maniac tyrant in no time. "You still dare to insult me?!"

With a snap of his fingers, the knights sprung into action. They opened the door, rushed into the cell and backed Sakamoto into a corner. Their king followed at a moderate pace and gave Akira, whom the guards ignored, a saccharine smile.

"Don't worry. It'll be your turn soon enough."

"Eff this!" With a sudden outburst, Sakamoto tackled one of the guards. Putting all of his strength on the line he slowly threw the creature four heads taller than him off balance, inch by inch. The impossible happened: the giant creature heeled over and fell flat on its back, fidgeting like a tortoise.

Sakamoto searched for Akira's gaze. "C'mon. We gotta ru- unngh!"

The knight was already back on its feet and delivered a blow with its shield to the blonde's stomach. The other two grabbed hold of his arms, leaving him defenceless. King Kamoshida freed his arms from underneath his cape, revealing a toned midriff, distinct abs and a pair of brutal biceps'. He proceeded to pummel the blonde teenager, creating a noise like a hammer tenderizing a steak. His punches were accompanied by self-indulgent lines.

Sakamoto used a gap in the onslaught to beg Akira, his voice strained and hoarse: "Run. Just get outta here."

Breathing heavily, Kamoshida turned to the bystander. A bulge in his thong indicated just how much he was enjoying himself.

"What? Are you just going to leave him here? I mean you _are_ weak, obviously anyone besides me is, but I gotta say that's remarkably pathetic for a friend."

"He ain't no friend ", Sakamoto coughed. His bruised face sent a silent plea to the bespectacled boy. "So there's no problem with leaving me here and saving his own skin-" A right hook cut him off.

"Well, if you want to neither run nor help, that's fine too." Kamoshida rolled his shoulders, ready to go another round. "Actually that's perfect. Just stand there and don't make a fuss."

Don't make a fuss.

The simple phrase, thoughtlessly spoken brought back the memories he had worked a whole month on trying to suppress. Or rather, it found the box he had sealed them away in, cracked the lock and ripped the lid off. Revelation dawned upon him: Regardless of the bizarre circumstances, this situation matched the previous two turning points in his life, namely when he hadn't helped the kid being bullied and the incident which had started this whole mess for him.

This was the same. He was simply being asked to make a choice: don't cause a fuss or get involved and face the consequences. Having experienced the aftermath of each option once already, Akira liked neither all that much, but he held a particular grudge against the second, seeing how it had turned his entire life upside down the last time he had opted for it. And in this instance, the consequences for messing with an adult would be even more severe. Death awaited him if he did something. He didn't even know the guy. Running away was the much more sensible choice...

But if that was truly the case, why did he flinch at every blow Sakamoto received?

Why did the urge to save his own skin make him feel like a failure again?

Why were his fists clenched?

And why did his voice come out?

"Stop it."

The King turned to him, markedly slow. His gleaming yellow eyes craved more entertainment. "What was that?"

He crossed the distance between them, leaning in close to Akira's face, hoping for yet another victim to amuse him.

All he found was a boy with messy black locks standing his ground and dark grey eyes throwing his stare back at him.

For the first time, the King lost his composure. "What's that irritating look for?" He shoved his foot into Akira's gut and sent him tumbling against the wall where the two guards with spears took hold of him. He struggled in their grip but their arms were like shackles, securely holding him in place.

The King meanwhile returned to the sobbing pile with blonde hair lying on the floor.

"Sadly, I can only kill you once, Sakamoto. But I guess that means we'll just have to make it count, eh?"

Every last ounce of resistance had left the vulgar boy. No cussing, no defiant looks, no aggression. All he could do was to tearfully express a heartfelt truth.

"Dammit... I don't wanna die-!"

King Kamoshida gave a thumbs-down."Execute him", he ordered the sword-wielding knight.

The world froze. Sakamoto, the King, the guards, everything froze.

Time froze.

Light froze.

Two tiny membranes of ethereal blue parted the darkness, none bigger than a man's hand, leaving miniscule sparkles in their wake.

The butterfly passed in front of Akira's eyes as a strained voice whispered in his ear:

_This truly is an unjust game. Your chances of winning are almost none. But if my voice is reaching you... there may yet be a possibility open to you. _

Akira blinked and faced facts.

Another pair of yellow eyes threw his stare right back at him.


	7. Pillager of Twilight

Chapter 7: Pillager of Twilight

"So, Mister Kurusu, what's it going to be?", the shadowy figure asked with a saccharine grin.

On closer inspection, it resembled Akira to a T: same height, same clothes, same messy black hair. Not-Akira mirrored the original perfectly, safe for the lack of glasses and the presence of those unsettling yellow eyes gleaming with sharp wit. Amidst the guards, Kamoshida and Sakamoto, all frozen in place, he stood tall, hands in his pockets, basking in Akira's undivided attention.

"Who are you?" It was the only question he could come up with.

"Someone you can't lie to. Someone who has always watched over you since the first sensible thought you had. Someone who knows what's best for you and pushes you to act accordingly." Not-Akira waggled his eyebrows. "Remind you of something?"

"You're... my conscience?"

"Eh. It'll do for now." The figure strolled over to one of the guards holding Akira in place, examining its expressionless mask from up close. "This may not look like it, but we don't have much time. Us meeting here like this is already an extremely unlikely turn of events. An ally gave their all to make it happen, this one chance. Which, come to think of it, I shouldn't squander by going off topic."

Not-Akira straightened up. "Apologies. My knack for the dramatic occasionally tempts me into showing off."

"Why are you here?"

"To watch you -finally- make your decision."

"What decision?" Akira would have loved to avert his eyes from the figure like his habit called for, but found himself unable to do so.

"Playing dumb, are we? Adorable." Beneath the sarcasm lay a hint of disappointment. "Yes, whatever decision could I possibly be talking about? After all, a complex individual like you struggles with so many of them for the better part of a year without making any progress. And the one time you bring yourself to take a stand, you happen to end up unfairly punished, throw in the towel and conclude it would be best to suppress your most important character trait -the will to help those around you- just so you can hopefully kiss up to a flawed system which has shown itself multiple times to not give a damn about you. What a breathtaking, awe-inspiring, dare say amazing display of confidence!"

Noticing the dismayed expression on his counterpart's face, Not-Akira adjusted his tone.

"All right, I'll admit that last one was a bit uncalled for. But imagine it was your obligation to lead a human to live in accordance to his ideals and see how all it takes to ruin your efforts is the vague desire to adjust to the rules of a system which, as he's already learned, are flawed. It's insanely frustrating."

Not-Akira took a deep breath. When he locked eyes with the person opposite again, he was entirely professional. "It is my duty to confront you with uncomfortable truths, so let's start with that."

He pointed decidedly at his flinching original. "You cannot return to your old life. Your experiences with injustice have broken the illusion of a 'good' society too thoroughly and you'll never be able to forget about them entirely. And even you yourself recognize how the idea of your 'rehabilitation' magically fixing everything is just the next illusion. Ergo, you don't have the option to avoid the choice. That's the first uncomfortable truth. Second is, that you have to choose _right now_."

Any and all protest crashed into the flat palm of an outstretched hand. Not-Akira jerked his head towards Sakamoto who kneeled on the ground hiding his head in his hands, a large sword hovering above him.

"Sorry, but in this case you're the only one who can help him. Simply sitting by and watching equals forsaking him to save your own skin. Besides, this is your turning point; the stakes are higher than ever. Death awaits him if you do nothing. If you can't bring yourself to help him in this most dire of all situations, you've already lost the game."

"What do you want from me, then?"

"I want you to give up on trying to fit in. To drop the pretence of blindly abiding a system despite knowing better. To stop silencing all those nagging thoughts in the back of your mind that are questioning society. Outcasts who embrace their role are called rebels. I want you to commit yourself to fight against injustice, even if said injustice incorporates the entire world and even if you have to do it all alone."

"I can't do that."

A quiet, honest confession escaped Akira's lips. His voice shrieked with horror.

"I can't reject everything and keep on living with everyone rejecting me in turn! I won't make that choice! Never! And you can't force me to!"

"What about the previous one, then?" Not-Akira calmly interrupted.

"Huh?"

"When the woman in the white blazer asked you for help and you came to her aid, never mind the consequences, can you honestly tell me you regret it? Will you truly call this act of basic human kindness a mistake just because someone unfairly punished you for it?"

Not-Akira stood right in front of him with only a few inches in between their faces.

"Remember: you can't lie to me."

Indeed, a small wiggly worm crawled up Akira's throat. He instinctively knew that no resistance would help against the statement welling up in his chest. He had been ignoring this truth every day for the last month, but this time there was no stopping it. His lips parted and opened the floodgates:

"It wasn't."

_**Click**__._ A small particle within him snapped back into place.

Not-Akira leaned into him until their foreheads touched. The only barrier separating them was Akira's glasses.

"Want to keep going?"

He did.

"It was not a mistake."

_**Click.**_

"I never regretted that action despite the aftermath. Put in the same situation, even knowing the outcome I would still do the same."

_**Click. Click.**_

"Because that's what I want to do. I want to help, because it expresses 'me'. Denying it would mean to deny myself."

_**Click. Click. Click.**_

"And I will stand by this against all odds."

_**CLICK.**_

_Very well._

An invisible nail was driven into Akira's forehead. He gasped in shock. A deep, booming voice echoed in his head.

_I have heeded your resolve._

The pain between his eyes intensified with every consecutive word. He squirmed within the two spearmen's intransigent grip.

_Vow to me, _the voice demanded. _I am thou, thou art I._

Every word it spoke acted like a hammer, driving the nail deeper into his skull.

_Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice. Call upon my name and release thy rage!_

Akira had already started screaming a while ago, but with the voice assuming an increasingly excited tone, someone seemed to grab the nail and twist it like the world's worst surgeon eagerly searching the bullet wound of a still awake patient for the infectious projectile, causing him to join the other inmates of the dungeon in their cries of agony. However, his unseen torturer insisted on upping the ante and his image of the cell dissolved into dancing lights.

_Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own though thou be chained __**to hell**__**itself!**_

Through the purple haze, Akira spotted the shape of an ironclad knight raising his sword, ready to spill blood.

"...enough."

The word echoed in the cell like a gunshot. Flabbergasted, the King stared at the lone raven-haired teenager standing with his back to the wall, restrained by the guards. Completely powerless, yet still resisting him. Utterly inconceivable.

The wannabe monarch huffed: "You desire to be killed that much? Fine."

At his command, one of the knights guarding Akira raised his shield. The blow knocked a pair of glasses off the teen's nose. Fake glasses. Intended to hide his 'unpresentable' sides. He had been forced to put them on to conceal his inexcusable flaws. Or at least that was the way he had looked at it up until now. Instinctively, he reached for his face-

-only to find a black and white bird-like domino mask covering the area around his eyes.

_How long has that been there? _

An attempt to take it off resulted in a pulling pain on his face and a rapidly increasing desire to get rid of the object. Slow, careful pulls turned into a desperate yank and a whole new world of agony, as he pulled the thing off his face alongside multiple stripes of his own skin which it had merged with.

Abruptly, from one split-second to the next, all the worries weighing on him like chains dissipated. The resignation, the pain, the solitude; they all faded into oblivion, leaving him with the overwhelming sentiment of all-encompassing freedom. It was a thrill like no other. His body was set ablaze by a burst of blue ethereal flames engulfing him and retreating to replace his Shujin uniform with elegant attire: a black ankle-length tailcoat over a high-necked waistcoat and black pants; while his hands hid inside a pair of phenomenal red gloves. The outfit felt less like fabric and more like a second skin to him.

Cool black chains writhed through the air, shackling an entity Akira didn't need to see to know it was there. He felt its presence just like he had the day he arrived in Shibuya.

He let go of the chains in his hands, allowing the creature to spread its abyssal wings and knock out the guard in front of him.

Akira allowed himself a look at his new partner.

A long-horned mask beneath a very tall top hat locked eyes with him. Its features were somewhat indistinct, moving novae on a black surface which spread its apparent hellish energy through the rest of its mostly humanoid body. Still, the entity had undeniable style, what with its cropped red suit and white ruffle tie forming a trendy ensemble with the red coverings on its legs resembling pants. Leading his grand entrance to the climax, the demon straightened up, showing off its full magnificent frame.

_I am the Pillager of Twilight - Arsene! _

He gave Akira a smouldering grin.

_I am the rebel's soul that resides within you. If you so desire, I shall grant you the strength to break through this crisis._

"Well, I don't want to die, so... ", Akira caught himself mumbling, cracking a joke at a time like this. The thought made him break a smile of his own. God, why did this feel so good?

_Hmph, very well._

The King pulled himself up from a rather disgraceful position on the ground. Every last hint of humour had left him.

"Guards! Execute him first! ", he shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the teen in the gentleman thief attire. The remaining two guards obeyed and began trembling wildly as their face masks dissipated and contagious black ooze burst forth from their disintegrating armours, taking the shape of two floating jack lanterns wearing witch hats and long coats. They approached Akira and unnatural flames flared up in the lanterns they held. He heard Arsene whisper instructions in his head.

_Your abilities are of the Curse variety. If you detest the enemies before you, I shall turn that animosity into power for you to unleash upon them._

Diving deep into his core being, Akira conjured the worst feelings hidden deep within his consciousness: the boiling hatred towards a certain suited man, the frustration of being powerless against the behemoth of a rotten society, the hurt disappointment at his parents' willingness to abandon him. And the desire for vengeance, the egotistical wish to inflict just a fraction of his own pain on someone else to make himself feel better. Arsene prevented these feelings from overwhelming his companion, transforming them into a powerful essence somewhere between matter and energy which he assembled between his claw-like fingernails.

A red glove extended towards the nearest pyromancer and Akira gave the command all his senses whispered to him.

+Eiha+

Arsene hurled the accursed ball at the target who cried in fear as pure malicious intent turned deadly attack tore on the edges of its fragile spiritual form. Disoriented and heavily damaged, it floated around the cell eventually succumbing to the demonic energy eating away at its livelihood.

Not to be discouraged, the other creature used the seconds gained by the death of its team mate to close in on Akira. By the time he turned around, it was already too close to him, raising its bewitched lantern for a melee attack.

_Swing your blade!_

Automatically, his fingers reached into the folds of his coat where they rested on the handle of a large knife as if they had done this a thousand times before. He pulled the dagger from its hidden sheath, cutting his enemy's sorry excuse for a face in the same motion. The assailant howled in pain, staggering backwards. Arsene compelled him to seize the opportunity.

_This power of mine is yours! Kill them however you want. Run wild to your heart's content! _

+Eiha+

Another blast of nightmarish miasma tore into the cosplaying pumpkin, disintegrating its shape for good. Akira twirled the knife effortlessly between his fingers before re-sheathing it. He shared a fond look with Arsene while adjusting his gloves. With the battle having been won, the raven-winged figure gave a chivalrous bow and faded into thin air, leaving nothing behind safe for a huge impression on the audience: Sakamoto sat on the rough ground with his jaw open, staring at Akira while his brain failed to process the recent turn of events. Next to him cowered nothing but a sobbing man in a ridiculous cape, shielding his head with his arms.

A hiddeto unnoticed hunch of professionalism prohibited Akira from laughing at this appealingly ironic role reversal. It wouldn't take long for the King to break free from the shock and send every last guard he had after them. Not to mention he probably possessed powers on his own. In their current situation, they couldn't afford to fight him. They were horribly unprepared and deep within enemy territory, after all.

"The key." He meant to address Sakamoto casually, but the boy jumped as if he had fired a gun at him.

"Huh? Oh, you mean this?" A shaking hand reached for the bunch of keys lying next to his foot where one of the guards had dropped it. Following a gesture from his fellow second year, he left the cell with Akira in tow and slammed the door shut. The squeaking sound the key produced as he turned in the lock brought Kamoshida back to his senses. One split-second later he was on his feet, clutching the iron bars and shouting at the top of his lungs: "You damned thieves! If I get a hold of you, I'll have you fried in boiling hot oil! You'll never escape! This is _my _castle! I am the King! I-"

Sakamoto said exactly what Akira was thinking: "I don't give a shit!" He tossed the key they'd used into a nearby canal. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here and -Dude your clothes!"

Akira had already noticed. His flamboyant coat, returned mask, gloves and everything had disappeared in a flash of blue flame. Far worse than the loss of his sick new duds however, was the sudden absence of any kind of confidence. He felt weak, exhausted and highly aware of the danger they were in. It took all of his discipline to keep calm and nod for Sakamoto to get moving.

Their search for an exit began in hurry and quickly turned desperate. They passed empty cells, jumped over broken bridges, crawled through a tunnel to dodge a barrier, finally ascended same stairs - only to find themselves in yet another dungeon. Here, the cells were occupied by inmates wearing Shujin uniforms, iron masks covering their heads and they didn't respond to any calls. Besides, Sakamoto and Akira had the royal guards at their heels so they couldn't waste any time with them.

A drawbridge leading across a roaring canal eventually brought them to a screeching halt. The bridge was up and stubbornly withstood all their attempts to lower it, all the while a maliciously grinning bust of His Majesty himself bore witness to their fruitless efforts.

Footsteps in the distance were growing more distinct when, out of the blue, a childish voice called out to them:

"Hey, Blondie! Frizzy hair! Over here!"

The occupant of the very last cell in the corridor waved at them. Said wave was done with one of two thin stubby arms with white paws sprouting from a roughly two foot-tall bipedal frame carrying an oversized head. The creature had a tail, wore a yellow scarf and a utility belt and looked at the two students with great blue, pleading eyes.

"You don't look like you're soldiers of this castle. Please, let me out."

Akira mentally updated his 'strangest thing I've seen all day'-list.

Sakamoto was done gawking a tad sooner than him and gave the feline-looking fellow a polite refusal. "No way, man. Goin' by your appearance, you're totally one of those weird guards too."

The creature grimaced in annoyance. "What are you, an idiot? If I was one of them, why would they lock me up? Help me out!"

"Well, Mr. Cat-"

The inmate looked at Akira as if he'd just caught him dancing on the grave of his deceased furry parents. "I am _not _a cat! Say that again and I'll make you regret it!"

Rattling sounds in the distance served as an indication of how close their pursuers were.

"Aw shit, they're catching up!" Sakamoto checked his phone. "And there's still no net. How are we supposed to get out?"

The Not-Cat was quick to catch on: "If you let me out, I'll show you an exit."

Sakamoto eyed the dwarf, then Akira who merely shrugged. "It's our best option."

Huffing, Sakamoto bent down, nailing the black and white ball of fur with the most menacing stare he could muster. "You. Better not. Be messin' with us", he emphasized before unlocking the cell with one of the remaining keys.

A nimble hop took the creature outside the cell where it stretched with relish: "Aaah, the sweet taste of freedom. How I have-"

"What about the exit, cat?"

The strange creature gritted its teeth at him. "I am not a cat! I am Morgana. Follow me, if you want to live, newbies."

And with that he hopped on over to the bust of the glorious ruler, jumped in the air and pulled its bold, masculine jaw. Stone cold eyes began to glow in synch with the bridge lowering. Morgana flashed the two boys a grin, basking in their newfound -and in the case of Sakamoto, reluctant- respect.

Things went smoothly from there on out, until their new guide announced that they were almost there, prompting Sakamoto to run ahead whereupon he was immediately intercepted by two guards coming from a door adjacent to the corridor the three were following.

"Tch. You amateur!" Morgana groaned. With yet another flash of blue flames, Akira felt his otherworldly attire return. With the extravagant coat came the captivating confidence he had already begun to miss.

Morgana threw him a glance, his eyes alight with excitement. "A thief's attire! That means you can fight, right? Let's go!"

The alerted guard contorted, spurting toxic black ooze from where its face should have been. Two monsters left the iron armour: a small winged devil with fleshy pink skin and another floating jack lantern.

Morgana hissed while analyzing their stance. "Those shadows are dead-set on killing us. We can't afford to make any mistakes. Let me go first."

The innocuous creature stepped forward. The monsters pounced on him, loudly praising King Kamoshida as they did.

"I'll shut you up. Come... Zorro!"

Another burst of azure flames illuminated the dark dungeons of the castle an imposing figure manifested behind the Not-Cat. It possessed mostly humanoid features save for an overly broad chest and comparatively small limbs and head. It wore all black attire accented by a short cape and hat. Its face sported that most manly of all accessories: a proud, well-combed moustache.

With a casual snap of his fingers, Morgana spurred his soul mate into action. The figure drew a thin, elegant sword. Three quick slashes, accompanied by a gust of wind produced a high, sharp note which rung in everyone's ears. The hovering Halloween costume cried out as razor sharp slashes of air carved a prominent "Z" into its frame. The creature couldn't stay afloat any longer and toppled to the ground.

"Strike at an enemy's weakness to knock them down. Use that opening to get one more hit in", Morgana produced a large plastic sabre from a tiny pocket on his utility belt. "I'll leave the other one to you", he meowed and proceeded to whack the dazed adversary with his toy weapon.

The winged perversion of a cherub left Akira no time to comment on the questionable effectiveness of a glorified L.A.R.P. weapon against actual monsters.

+Eiha+

Arsene manifested briefly and send another bubble of ill-bringing energy as red as Akira's gloves to meet the assailant halfway, whose form cramped and dissipated, leaving behind a small pile of blinking objects. Morgana swiftly collected them.

"Strike at an enemy's weakness to knock them down. Use that opening to get one more hit in. That's the most basic of basics. Remember it well", he waggled his ears at the teen. "But aside from that, you're not quite bad. That's one powerful Persona you have there."

Once again, Akira's clothes vanished, wiping his confident smirk off his face. Once again, he felt exhausted. Once again, he felt painfully generic. Once again, he wanted more.

Morgana looked at him critically. "Yeah, that's not supposed to happen. Guess you don't have full control over your power yet."

"You called Arsene a 'Persona'?", Akira inquired.

"Oh, right. You see, a Persona is a facade, a mask basically. Every human being wears such as a mask but-"

"Guys", Sakamoto interrupted. He had pulled himself off the ground and was so unnerved he almost cried. "Exit. Please."

* * *

"All right, we're here. You can stop wetting your pants now, Blondie."

"Are you for real? This is a frickin' dead end!"

Akira felt compelled to agree with Sakamoto. The room Morgana had led them to what appeared to be a chamber only accessible through the large, engraved door they had just used to enter it. But on the wall across from them, above three wooden bookshelves, there laid the entrance to a-

"Ventilation shaft", he said out loud.

To his credit, Sakamoto wasted no time to climb the shelves as soon as he spotted the grille. The consequences of a brutal yank on the bars sent him tumbling down again. Fortunately, he brought the grating with him.

"You guys should get out now", Morgana advised like a tutor lecturing a pair of fourth-graders.

"You're not comin' with us?"

"I have other plans."

"Don't get caught again", Akira couldn't prevent himself from saying.

Morgana took the jab with a polite nod and turned back towards the confines of the deadly castle.

Once outside, Akira followed Sakamoto across the courtyard in front of the castle and into the time and space bending alleyway which had led them there so mysteriously. His eyes were glued to his phone. The weird app icon blinked indifferently at him.

_If this doesn't work, I'm really at my wit's end, _he noted with just a slight bit of his panic from before his meeting with Arsene returning. _If this doesn't work..._

He passed the puddle and took the familiar turns, hoping for the best.

_If this doesn't work...!_

The sky appeared from behind cables and cement walls.

Akira stepped outside the dim alley into the bright rays of light emitted by the mid-April sun burning down from an almost insultingly blue hemisphere. He was back at the corner next to the clothes shop.

Relief fought with a sneaking suspicion within him. He had seen too many things today that had turned out completely different from what they initially appeared to be. Sakamoto struggled with similar difficulties.

"Did we make it?", he asked, looking at his partner-in-misfortune for some sort of confirmation.

Conveniently, Akira was spared the task of responding since an artificial melodious voice coming from his phone took this moment to inform them:

_"Metaverse Navigation complete. You have successfully returned to the real world." _

"Ah. So we're back, huh?" Sakamoto examined the suspicious icon on Akira's phone which had returned to its original red and black colour scheme. "But dude, what was all that even about? That castle, Kamoshida and that weird-ass cat?"

Sakamoto's energy returned simultaneously to the tension wearing off. Soon he was yelling at the top his lungs. "Dammit! I have no idea what's goin' on!"

_Neither do I, to be honest, _Akira thought. The abrupt transition from unknown, life-threatening otherworld to regular, slow-paced real world was jarring to say the least. He almost expected one of the passing cars to turn into a monster and attack them.

But no, they continued undeterred, just normal cars on a normal road. Normal passers-by walking around. Two normal cops approaching with 'You done screwed up, boys'- expressions on their faces.

_Curses. _Normal world meant normal rules such as:

"No yelling in public places!" One of the policemen snapped at them. "Why are you not at school?"

_You won't believe us. We have a valid reason, sort of. But you'll never believe us._

Somehow, Akira got the feeling he would be repeating these same words a lot in the times to come.

The same conclusion hadn't yet dawned on Sakamoto, however.

"Well, when we got there, the school had turned into this strange castle an'-"

The officer reacted as expected; just like any other sane person would.

"Are you on drugs?"

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"We passed Shujin Academy on our way here. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Why don't you just admit that you were cutting classes?"

A sudden tension overcame Akira's gut. He checked his phone. It was around lunchtime. He had already missed four periods of class.

"We'll head there right away." He bowed politely to the policemen, trying to show neither his disgust nor discomfort; turned on the spot and embarked on the longer, regular route to the Shujin grounds, a confused Sakamoto in tow.

"For real", the blonde mumbled. "The school can't be back to normal. That'd make no sense at all."

* * *

"This makes no sense at all!" Sakamoto very audibly exclaimed upon being confronted with the perfectly ordinary school entrance.

Shujin Academy looked just like Akira remembered from yesterday: the same black fence, the same grey and cold building, the same miserable windows.

An angry counsellor awaited them on the stairs leading up to the main building, arms crossed. From high above he unloaded his lecture upon the teens.

"You are terribly late _and_ we got a call from the police. The principal himself took notice. Where were you?"

"In a... a castle", Sakamoto muttered, slowly realizing that the truth wouldn't get them anywhere.

The teacher's eye twitched. "That has to be the _most blatant lie_ I've ever been told. A castle! I don't believe it...!"

"What's this about a castle?"

A prominent, masculine voice spoke up, followed by the entrance of a man who didn't need the stairs to tower over the two students. He was over six feet tall, wore blue jersey pants and a flashy smile. A whistle and a stopwatch dangled in front of his broad chest. The sleeves of his shirt tightened at his biceps and his face featured a very familiar bold nose and chin.

"Kamoshida?" Sakamoto was flabbergasted.

The man gave him a small wave. "Glad to see you so carefree, Sakamoto. Maybe you're better off without the track team after all?"

Sakamoto fell right into his trap. "Shut up, you asshole! That was all your fault-"

"How dare you speak this way to Mr. Kamoshida?!", thundered the counsellor. "You know how little leeway you have and yet-"

The confirmed Kamoshida gave his colleague an apologetic smile. "Come now. I too should have been more considerate. Let's say we were both to blame."

"Hmph. If you say so. But he still has to give an explanation for his absence. Sakamoto. With me."

Glaring daggers at his nemesis, Sakamoto trotted up the stairs and followed the counsellor inside. Kamoshida repaid the favour with a look of innocent politeness. Once they were alone he turned to Akira, curious.

"I know you just transferred here but... have we met before?"

Akira shrugged his shoulders, feigning ignorance.

Kamoshida wasn't thrown off. "Oh, yeah. You were there this morning when I picked someone up, weren't you?"

_Have just remembered that or are you testing me? Well, two can play that game._

"That was quite chivalrous of you", he said, staring at the other's sport shoes.

"Ah, no big deal." Kamoshida's humble smirk was a bit too large. He scratched his neck. "Well, I guess I will overlook this for now what with today being your first day and all. Excitement. Nerves. Taking the wrong turn when you have to be on time. I can relate. Just make sure it doesn't happen too often." He dropped his hand. "Speaking of not too often, it's rare to see Sakamoto with someone. Are you his friend?"

"Never seen him before today", Akira responded honestly. He sensed caution behind the teacher's innocuous question and decided to be even more careful. Going along with his intuition felt strangely reassuring, as of late.

"Hmm." Kamoshida dropped the smile for a more serious teacher act. "I'm pretty sure the principal already told you, but just to reiterate: if you cause any trouble... _any _trouble, you'll be expelled right away. And if that happens, I doubt any other school would take you. It would be game over for you."

_Don't worry, I've been told excessively._

"Understood."

"Good. You should head the faculty office next. Ms. Kawakami is probably tired of waiting by now. Aside from that..." The teacher winked as he made his exit. "Good luck with your new school life."

Akira brooded over those words as he entered the school. In that other world, Kamoshida, the 'King' as he called himself loud and often, had been a crazed oppressor who took pleasure in abusing those weaker than him. But how much of that could be trusted? Regardless, his gut warned him to keep his guard up around both of them.

If there actually _were_ two of them, that was.

_God, this is confusing._

He pushed these thoughts back as he walked up the stairs to the second floor.

_Save it for later. Right now it's back to try and leading an honest student's life._

* * *

Ms. Kawakami was less than thrilled.

"Do you have any idea how late you are?"

The woman in her early thirties stared him down, seemingly having a hard time believing he even dared to show up in the end. Coming from the woefully exhausted teacher whose dialogue had consisted mostly of sighing during their first meeting in the principal's office yesterday; this was a truly scandalous outburst of emotion.

"Sorry. I got lost." He offered the minimal required amount of explanation while intently inspecting her shoes. Brown half-shoes, no laces.

She didn't let him off the hook quite yet, however.

"Unless you're suffering from a severe orientation disorder which miraculously slipped past every medical check-up you did in the last sixteen years, there's no way you could've gotten lost so bad on a route whom the person you accompanied must have known about. Pull yourself together. A single day and you have already lost the chance to make a good first impression on anyone in this school. Over half a day late, a call from the police and to top it all off you where found with that Sakamoto-kun..."

Strangely, this last part seemed to bother her the most.

"_That _Sakamoto?"

"Ugh. He poses nothing but trouble these days. But back when he did track and field...", she trailed off, probably deciding that disclosing to him whatever baggage Sakamoto hauled would put too big of a strain on her constantly overworked nerves.

"Whatever", she sighed. "Break is almost over. I'll introduce you to the class."

Akira followed his homeroom teacher as she left the faculty office. Her rather casual get-up, a yellow striped sweater and long blue skirt, posing a sharp contrast to the prim and proper uniform of the Shujin students roaming the corridors. He couldn't shake the impression that most of them quickened their pace when they passed by him and the hairs on the back of his neck reported glances following him. Ms. Kawakami noticed him noticing and turned to him when they reached the classroom labelled '2-D'.

"When you, er... you know, when... uh, I mean, with you, er..." She scratched the back of her head, consequently throwing her messy black hair into even greater disarray. In the end she advised "just don't do anything unnecessary" and slid the door open.

The whispers buzzing around the classroom died down. Stepping up to the teacher's desk in front of the black board, Ms. Kawakami addressed the students, every last one of whom skewered the newcomer with glances as if he were a dotted zebra. Again, the hairs on the back of his neck acted up. Something had already gone wrong besides him being too late, but he couldn't put his finger on it. That only served to further his anxiousness.

"As all of you know, this year we'll be having a new student with us. May I introduce- Akira Kurusu. He just transferred here. Since he wasn't feeling well we had him attend late for today." She forced some enthusiasm into her voice. "Please introduce yourself, Kurusu-kun."

"I'm Akira Kurusu ", he redundantly mumbled. He was not on board with this situation at all.

_Why are they staring so much? Are they expecting me to randomly do a backwards summersault? _

Ms. Kawakami narrowly avoided sending her eyes skywards. "Yes, we know. Thank you. Please take your seat. Over there, to the right. The one that's free. Would the neighbours share their textbooks with him for today?"

The craving eyes of his -as of now- classmates observed every last one of his movements as he made his way to the designated desk in the fourth row, next to the window. Half anticipatory, half anxious they seemed to gather every information they could, to form an opinion on him. The whispers flared up again although he couldn't make out any clear statements. Was he being judged already? For being too late? Or was there something more to it?

_I mean, I have a... record, but they don't know-_

"Lies."

A voice cut through the background noise. The under-breath muffle lured his attention unto the girl occupying the seat one row in front of his own. The flashy female student seated there looked the other way.

He recognized her instantly. An unforgettable waterfall of platinum blonde hair kind of gave it away.

The girl from this morning. The one Kamoshida had picked up.

For the briefest of moments, he slowed down while passing by her desk. It was more than enough to crank the whispers up to eleven.

Forcibly blending them out, he slumped down on his chair, lost in his own thoughts. The most notable of which:

_How the hell am I supposed to focus on class?_

* * *

One of the most forgettable periods of his entire school life later, Akira considered his mind to be fairly calm and down-to-earth again. At least until he stepped outside the classroom and found that the corridor was now decked out with red carpet and surrounded by solid brick walls.

He was back in the castle.

Calmly, he rubbed his eyes with shaking fingers and re-opened them.

He saw but a regular High School corridor with uniformed students idly walking to and fro. Everything was as it should be. But still the obviously fake illusion lingered in the corner of his eye.

_Am I going insane?_

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Ms. Kawakami had left the classroom shortly after him, worry painted on her face.

"Could you please behave a bit less conspicuous? You're already gossip topic number one among the students but I don't know who might have leaked information to them. If you want to avoid being branded as a delinquent student for all eternity by them, you have to at least stay away from Sakamoto and-"

She would never finish her advice. Ignoring all the students dodging him, the infamous 'troublemaker' himself marched right towards the two of them. However, Akira thought it odd how he hesitated briefly upon seeing Ms. Kawakami. So far, he had seen Sakamoto display only two different moods: anger and desperation, neither of which he dared to show with her for some reason.

"Speak of the devil", his homeroom teacher crossed her arms in front of her chest. A hint of sympathy sneaked into her annoyed expression, creating a remarkably tortured look. "The police called, you know."

Sakamoto avoided her gaze. "Yeah."

"And you haven't dyed your hair back to black either."

"Sorry, 'bout that." He leaned towards Akira before she could continue. "I'll wait on the rooftop", he muttered and quickly made his exit.

Ms. Kawakami sighed. "Of course that advice only works if you aren't yet this heavily involved with him. Whatever, once you're done here you should head home immediately. I had to inform your guardian about this whole disaster and he was not happy, let me tell you."

_Is Sakura-san ever?_

Ms. Kawakami seemed to shrink as if Akira's troubles were somehow weighing on _her _shoulders. "Two troublesome students at once..." Yet another use of her favourite method of exhaling. "Seriously, why do I have to deal with this?"

She shuffled down the hallway mumbling to herself and dragging a prominent banner of self-pity behind her, leaving Akira to ascend two floors and meet up with Sakamoto on the school rooftop.

Reluctantly ignoring the sign on the door denying anyone entry, he stepped out on Shujin Academy's less than inviting rooftop. Sakamoto sat on a chair near some discarded tables, diddling on his phone. He got up when he noticed Akira approaching.

"So you came, huh?"

"Hm."

"Despite Kawakami tellin' you not to get involved?"

"How do you know?"

"Figured as much."

"So?"

"Huh?"

"What's this about?"

"Er, well...", Sakamoto stalled. "That... castle-thing. That was real, right? I mean, you remember it too?"

Akira nodded.

"That's something at least. Although most of this still goes way over my head. Was that a dream? But how did we have the same dream or- Dude, what are ya lookin' at? Is there somethin' on my shoes?"

"Nah."

"Uh-huh. Right. That aside, do you remember Kamoshida? The guy we met earlier, that ripped mop head? He was also in that castle and in the real world, just like us. But if he had remembered how we locked him up in that cell, we would have been sent to detention 'till we're old and gray. So I don't know if he's really the 'King' in that exhibitionist get-up. Though I gotta say, it would fit in some messed up way."

Akira had trouble keeping up. "You're talking about the PE-teacher?"

"Huh? Oh, right, I forgot you just transferred here an' don't know about him yet. His name's Suguru Kamoshida. Paragon of teacherous virtue by day, student-pestering lecher... also by day."

The effect of Ms. Kawakami's chastisement seemed to wear off. Sakamoto got more aggravated with each word.

"Basically, he's this volleyball player who got a tiny little bit famous when he won gold at the Olympics and earned this school some fame when he took our volleyball team to nationals. No one here is allowed to go against or talk shit about him. There are rumours coursing behind his back tho and they ain't no laughin' matter. Speakin' of which, I didn't know you had a criminal record."

Akira stared at him.

"Whoa man, no worries. I have no problem with that", the other was quick to reassure him, blissfully misinterpreting the situation. "It means we're in the same boat. We troublemakers will get along just fine, won't we?"

He bumped Akira in the shoulder, who flinched subconsciously at the contact.

"I'm Ryuji Sakamoto. You can call me Ryuji. I might come talk if I see you around, so don't ignore me, all right? See ya."

He picked up his bag and went for the exit, leaving Akira speechless as this day tenaciously kept shaking him to his core.

* * *

**Evening.**

_Ms. Kawakami might've been right. I may have lost all chances of living a normal, honest student life today._

Akira lay outstretched on his surrogate bed in the attic of Leblanc. After the turbulent events of this day had robbed him of all energy, he hadn't been able to further clean the still extensively cluttered room. Exhausted to the core, yet somehow too tired to sleep, he had changed into his pyjamas and was currently trying to determine the exact point in time where things had started to go south.

Sakura-san had given him a good scolding because of the call he'd gotten from the school. He probably would have chastised him till the sun rose up again if he hadn't been interrupted by yet another call whose initiator he promptly treated to an affectionate undertone. Leblanc's manager had waved for Akira to go to his room, leaving the teen to wonder how a man in his fifties could have this much luck with women.

The school had called his guardian to inform him about Akira's extreme lateness, which he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for: The answer was the castle, duh. That puzzling, disappearing dream-like structure where he and Sakamoto had barely dodged death thanks to a series of increasingly fantastic events. His thoughts lingered on the subject of the paranormal entity which had aided him in overcoming the mad King and his guards.

He clenched his fists as he recalled the feeling of the rad black coat on his shoulders, the knife in his hard and the thrill of battle. To say nothing of the confidence and perhaps even the sense of belonging rejuvenating every fibre of his being as he fought against the distorted creatures. The entity, this 'Persona' as Morgana had called it, had claimed to be, the 'rebel's soul' which resided within him.

_I'm not exactly a prime example of a rebel._

But he undeniably felt a connection with Arsene.

_Weird name, by the way. I'll have to look that up._

And it did tie in with what he'd come to discover about himself during his talk with his yellow-eyed doppelganger. Despite all the hassle it had brought him, he couldn't bring himself to regret having helped when his help had been asked for, regardless of how the suited man, the police, the lawyers, the judges, his parents or pretty much everyone told him otherwise.

He allowed himself to get lost in the strange comfortableness this knowledge provided him. Sure, his association with Sakamoto, the bad impression he'd left with teachers today and the fact that someone might have leaked his criminal record were quite some setbacks but they paled in comparison. He had stepped in to save Sakamoto. When the situation called for it, he'd acted in accordance to his ideals and it had paid off. The world might look down on him, but _he _didn't feel like a failure anymore.

As he slowly drifted away to sleep, he registered with the last remaining pieces of consciousness that his feeling of being hollow had vanished.

If just a little bit.

* * *

"On your feet, inmate!"

The voice trailed down his ear with all the smoothness and grace of a spiky centipede.

Stuffed in a simple black and white prisoner's uniform and with a massive iron ball chained to his ankle, he clutched yet another set of iron bars in his hands. Behind him lay his cell, as he knew.

To his right, a short girl with grey hair in two buns, wearing a bright blue prison warden uniform slammed her baton against the door this cell. Her left eye, the one which wasn't covered with a black eye patch, glared at him.

Caroline.

To his left, another girl, evidently her twin, wore the same clothes only with the eye patch on her other eye, a different hairstyle of two long plaits and her item of choice being a black clipboard. She was also way more soft spoken than her sister.

"Our master wishes to speak with you. Make sure to take his words to heart."

Justine.

He remembered their names because... he had been here before.

Akira gave a mental sigh.

_So, last night, wasn't just a hoax. Yup, there's the opera music. Not even dreams are what they appear to be._

Although he had to admit that this one summed up his overall situation pretty nicely.

His memories to the first time he'd visited this place, the Velvet Room, remained vague but he clear as day recalled being stunned by the sight of an overly large nose. Its owner sat in the middle of the room Akira was looking at from his cell. The white-haired, pointy-eared form sat hunched over on a large wooden desk in such a way, that his majestic snout nearly bumped the tabletop.

"Welcome back, Trickster." A voice like a bassoon echoed within the walls of the prison. The man -Igor- stared at Akira with somewhat off-putting, bloodshot eyes. "It saddens me to in from you that our reunion this night will be short-lived. Contrary to our first meeting, this will be but a short briefing. Since you have awakened to your powers, your rehabilitation can now begin in earnest. First of all, let me disclose to you the meaning and function of Personas and the Metaverse Navigator..."


	8. Skull of Rebellion

Chapter 8: Skull of Rebellion

**April 12th, 20XX. Tuesday. After School**

Model gun?

Check.

Having successfully retraced the route through the back alleys they had taken yesterday?

Also check.

Standing guard at the school gates right after class ended in order to intercept the new transfer student when he would inevitably pass by him at some point?

Check with sugar on top.

Ryuji leaned against the school fence, observing the river of first-, second- and third-year students pouring over the steps of the exit. Some of them sent curious or even hostile glances his way but he paid them no mind. He was busy trying to conceal his extreme nervousness which flared up whenever he recounted the plan in his mind: Catch the transfer student, get him to go along with you, find a way to return to that castle-thing and investigate the other prisoners held captive in the dangerous. Honestly, he already felt bad for having left them there yesterday. Who knew what that maniac Kamoshida did to them? After all, Ryuji had experienced the methods of the ambitious PE-teacher first hand and his ribs were still aching from the beat down the King had treated him to the day before. From all this crazy stuff, this was probably the part he could make the least sense of. Where the lecherous Olympic medallist and the scarcely-clothed self-proclaimed monarch one and the same? Despite this explanation prominently defying all logic -just like everything else connected to that damned fortress did- he leaned towards it, although that might be because the mere thought of _two_ human turds named Kamoshida running around made him weak in the knees.

Sometime last night he had given up on trying to make sense of the mystery surrounding the castle and decided to delay these musings as long as he still knew so little about this subject. That was the reason he wanted to go back: to find out more and help the students under Kamoshida's thumb. He couldn't do this alone, however. He needed that guy with the glasses to go with him and confirm that any and all craziness they encountered was just as real to him as to Ryuji. There were other reasons of course, but him being scared of going back to a place he had almost died in all by his lonesome wasn't among them. No, definitely not.

Finally, a mop of unruly black locks appeared amidst the uniform wearing masses. Ryuji felt his pulse quicken when he raised his hand to signal the bespectacled boy to come over. Would he comply? Or would he avoid him like all the other students these days?

His doubts vanished a second later since the teen immediately changed directions and soon stood right in front of him.

Akira Kurusu had his hands buried deep in his pockets and held his head low. Hunched shoulders completed the picture of someone who tried not to stand out.

"Yo, er... what's up?", Ryuji tested the waters.

Kurusu shrugged. Ryuji suddenly remembered that his fellow second-year wasn't exactly the conversational type. He dragged him into a nearby alley, away from prying ears and lowered his voice:

"I wanna talk about the castle from yesterday. That thing is haunting me. It couldn't have been just a dream and if it is connected to Kamoshida somehow... I just need to find out more 'bout it. And you're the only one who might not dismiss me as crazy when I bring this up, so... Wanna help me investigate?"

Oof. That reasoning sounded weak even to him. Kurusu had every right to-

"I'm in."

"Huh? You are?"

"What's next?"

"Oh, uh..." Ryuji managed to recall step two of his 'plan'. "Well, there's a problem. You see, this is the alley that led us to the castle yesterday. I've retraced it this morning already an' it led me to Shujin like always. So I figured whatever happened yesterday wasn't triggered by us passin' through that alley. That's when I remembered: You had somethin' on your phone, didn't you? Somethin' said 'Welcome to the real world' when we got back didn't it?"

Kurusu seemed to pick up on his train of thought and pulled out his phone. Ryuji saw him hesitantly tapping an icon looking like an eyeball.

"What's that?"

"A navigation app... I think."

"You think?"

Kurusu didn't elaborate and Ryuji's impatience got the better of him. He snatched the phone and searched through the menu of the program. It sure looked like a navigation app. There was even a search history. A search history with but a single entry labelled 'castle' in angular black letters.

"Yusssss!" He fist-pumped and showed Kurusu the display. "Mystery solved! Man, I'm a genius!"

"You already clicked it?" Slight alarm became evident in the other's voice.

"Hm? Sure, why not?"

**"Kamoshida. Shujin Academy. Pervert. Castle." **A mechanical voice listed the words like coordinates.

**"Beginning navigation."**

A brief "What the hell?" escaped his lips him as the very fabric of reality began to form bubbles before his eyes.

* * *

Cold, hard stone.

Ryuji focused on the feeling in the palm of his hand.

It was real. It was real after all.

He pressed his hand against the solid wall and forced himself to open his eyes. Above him towered a massive brick wall looking just as real as it felt. It was real, he was certain that it was real in a way. But Shujin was real too. Both buildings were real at the same time, in the same place. 'What the hell' didn't quite cut it.

Point two on the list of things that made no sense was Kurusu's clothes. Ryuji examined the teen standing next to him. Grey eyes held his gaze nonchalantly from behind a black and white mask. Kurusu still had his hands in his pockets but thanks to the coat and a straightened posture it looked more elegant than anything.

Kurusu noticed his intense stare. His lips curled in a faint smirk. "No need to be jealous, Sakamoto."

Busted, he snapped reflexively. "I ain't! And it's Ryuji!"

The words echoed in the empty courtyard.

A little dot of black and white leaned around the corner to their left.

"Would you please stop making a commotion?", a familiar boyish voice hissed.

Ryuji couldn't keep his eyes from rolling. Fate didn't even spare him the cat.

"Shut it, Monamona!"

"First of all, it's Morgana. Second, the shadows inside are acting up. Get over here you two!"

A creak of the main portal lent urgency to these words, as a patrol of knights entered the courtyard. Ryuji consequently shook a leg, as did Kurusu. Around the corner, they were greeted with the sight of the two-feet-tall talking bipedal cat gesturing towards the open ventilation shaft where they had left the castle last time.

"Hurry up!"

Morgana emerged last from the ventilation shaft. From high up on the shelves, he glared at the two students standing below him in the chamber. His ears twitched in irritation.

"Impressive. After escaping execution and capture by a hair's breadth, the two rational human beings decided the best course of action would be to return to the place where they almost lost their lives. Assuming you don't have a massive death wish, you must either be dumb as rocks or the most courageous people I've ever met. Now if I were to utter a guess on that, I'd say-"

"It's kinda hard to stop thinkin' of you as a cat if you keep hissin' at us, y'know?", Ryuji retorted with the same level of politeness.

Morgana held his aggravated glare for three long seconds.

"What are you doing here? You're disturbing my investigation."

The recent sprint had left a soaring pain in Ryuji's leg which contributed to his rising anger.

"Answers. What is this place? Why does it stand exactly in the same spot as our school?"

Morgana took a deep breath. "This place _is _your school."

Ryuji blinked. He must've misheard. "No, it ain't. It's a castle-"

"Gimme a sec!" Morgana looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right words. "The simplest explanation would be this: We're currently in another dimension called the 'Metaverse'. It is the world of human cognition, meaning it is formed by how humans in the real world _perceive_ things up to the point where the particularly distorted views of a single individual can create a distorted version of actually existing places in here. I call them 'Palaces'."

Ryuji gave his all to keep up. "So..., a person from Shujin is responsible for this?"

"Yup. The Palace's ruler. You two met him yesterday, as I've heard."

"Kamoshida?"

The cat shrugged. "If that's his name."

Ryuji's mouth opened, but no words came out. Out of everything the cat had said, this statement sadly made sense to him. He thought of Kamoshida who treated the students like underlings. Kamoshida who basked in appreciation, especially his own. Kamoshida whose influence surpassed that of the principal. Kamoshida who upheld the hopes of the school.

A bone-chilling, blood-curdling scream reached his ears, originating deep down in the catacombs of the castle.

Another image sprung to mind: Kamoshida who brutally punished those who opposed him.

The pain in his leg intensified.

His mouth was dry.

"Morgana. Those guys we saw in the cells yesterday..., what does he do to them?"

"You mean the slaves? He has a habit of venting his anger on them."

Yet more people hurt. Yet more students falling victim to the arbitrariness of that decadent, that perverted, that wretched, condescending, petty little-

"SONUVABITCH!"

"Don't scream like that, you unbelievable moron! Do you want to get us caught?"

"Please take us to where they are. To the cells."

"Huh?"

Ryuji couldn't quite determine whether he was shaking with rage or something else. All he could think of was the urge to do something -anything- to save anyone else from getting hurt by Kamoshida the way he had done to the track team.

Critically, Morgana examined him. "I can take you there..." His gaze drifted. "...If _he _comes with us."

"Why is that?"

Ryuji jumped a little when Kurusu spoke up. During their heated debate, the already quiet boy had completely faded into the background.

"I want to get a better look at your powers. And besides, your friend" -Morgana cocked his head at Ryuji- "Looks like he's going to go anyways. But between the two of us, he only stands a chance at living through the endeavour if we both accompany him. You see that, don't you?"

Kurusu complied with a nod.

A broad Cheshire grin broke Morgana's cool demeanour. "It's settled then. And just FYI, we'll make this room our infiltration point. We'll always return here when you're lost: Now, follow me!"

Suddenly brimming with excitement, the furry thief hopped down from the bookshelves, across the room and into the bordering corridor.

Ryuji caught Kurusu when he wanted to follow suit. He felt like he should say something.

"Listen, dude, er... what you're doing, goin' with us even though you don't have to, I mean... it's real cool of you."

Kurusu did not turn a hair.

"So,... thanks man. I really appreciate it, y'know. If I can repay you somehow-"

"You can give me my phone back."

Much to his embarrassment, Ryuji noticed how he was still clutching the phone with the activated eyeball app in his hand.

"Whoops, my bad."

Kurusu took the phone and stowed it somewhere in the depths of his coat. "Merci beaucoup."

"Was that Spanish?"

"Come on newbies, hurry up. With the soldiers searching the courtyard, the entrance hall should be empty. Let's go!"

With Morgana as their only slightly overzealous guide, finding their way back to the dungeons proved to be no challenge. One unlucky guard they met on the way was immediately taken out by Morgana and Kurusu in a matter of seconds, a fact both of them seemed to take strange pride in. However, when the trio arrived at the cells from yesterday, their luck began to decline: not only had the inmates vanished, Morgana's sharp ears also picked up on the sound of a whole group of guards coming their way. He appointed the two teens to an old-fashioned wooden door to their left.

"Hide!"

Ryuji didn't need telling twice. The room behind the door almost made him regret his eagerness: the image of a neglected medieval chamber blurred in irregular intervals and form the corner of his eye he could see the antique wooden furniture turn into modern desks, shelves and chairs. The barrier between reality and the castle in here and the constant switch between the two soon gave him a headache, yet Morgana was adamant about this being the perfect seclusion spot: "We're safe in here. The guards can't come in here because the ruler's control over this area is limited in your world. As I said, the two dimensions mirror on another."

This ultimately made Ryuji give up on trying to make sense of the cat's strange ramblings, which of course didn't stop the feline form further cranking up the weirdness:

"Frizzy hair, you're curious about your clothes, aren't you? They are a representation of the will of rebellion you hold within you. In this world the concepts of 'rebellion' and 'distortion' contradict each other. Just like a Palace is a manifestation of someone's distorted desires, your costume is a testament to your willpower and your refusal to let anyone dictate your decisions. It protects you from the dangers the ruler sends to suppress you."

But they seemed to strike a bell with Kurusu who nodded, lost in thought.

"Anyways", Ryuji interjected in an attempt to return the conversation to a topic that didn't completely fly over his head. "We're here for these prisoners, remember? Where are they if not in their cells?"

Morgana mumbled, angry at his magnificent sermon being interrupted. "They were moved to the training hall. I heard the guards mumble about it when they passed by."

"Then let's go there already, why don't we?"

"It isn't quite that easy", Morgana confessed with a sigh. "The training hall they spoke of is located deep within enemy territory. Stealth is our only option if we want to make it in and out of there alive. Even then we'll probably have to fight a bunch of guards and your companion is still a rookie, if a capable one. Speaking of which, you've got some nerve to urge us to such an endeavour when we basically have to baby-sit you."

That one stung. Feeling his blood boiling anew, Ryuji pulled the plastic gun out of his bag. It was a very detailed model of a Tkachev which, until yesterday, had made for one excellent dust collector on his windowsill. "I _can_ help you. Why do you think I brought this?"

A deafening silence followed his proud exclamation.

"That's a toy, right?", Morgana inquired with an indefinite expression.

Ryuji tried to defend his idea. "Yeah, but it makes realistic sounds, so I can threaten them-" which wouldn't exactly help in a fight, he realized. Man, did he feel stupid.

Meanwhile, Morgana was getting into it. "So you finally bring something to the table that isn't entirely redundant, Blondie. Give it to your buddy over there and he can increase his battle prowess."

"Uhm, but it doesn't shoot-"

"Doesn't matter as long as it_ looks_ realistic."

"You've lost me."

"Oh Blondie, I doubt I ever had you."

No elevating rage-meter to 'simmering'. "I want an explanation. Please."

"Then say so." Pointing a paw to the ceiling in order to rally the attention of his massive crowd, Morgana indulged in yet another tutorial. "In this world, things are directly shaped by how one perceives them, meaning that as long as our enemy _sees_ the gun as real, it becomes such. Thus, even toys can become valuable assets to our arsenal. Trust me, I've tried it", he said and pulled an oversized construct made of wood and some string from his utility belt.

From what Ryuji had gathered, all of his questions would lead to more confusing rants that no one in their right mind would ever dare to dub 'explanations' but in this case he couldn't hold back: "That's a slingshot. They ain't that dangerous. Even if the monsters see it as real, you would hafta shoot iron projectiles or somethin' to damage them."

To his surprise -and utter delight- the cat didn't have an answer to that. "It just works, okay? I have tried it many times."

Sensing his opponents' weakness, he kept prying. "Admit it, there are rules even you don't understand, ain't there? You demand obedience just 'cause you were here before us? Come to think of it, why _are_ you here? _What_ are you? If you ain't a monster-"

"I'm a human." The objection came from barely moving lips. "An honest-to-god human. But I lost my true form, that's why I'm stuck looking like this. I came here on a preliminary investigation to find the means by which I could regain what I have lost but ended up getting captured and tortured by Kamoshida." Morgana directed an accusatory glance at him. "Does this quench your sudden thirst for personal information?" When Ryuji tried to respond, he was cut off. "Good. Then please hand over that gun to your buddy and let's resume our infiltration, shall we?" His tone made a refusal impossible.

Lo and behold, the gun did fire. Or at least it worked. Somehow. Kurusu pulled the trigger, there was a loud bang and the form of a dainty elf tumbled to the ground with one of her wings torn to shreds, leaving her open for the two fighters of the group to slash away at her in a breathtaking display of teamwork. Amidst all the craziness, the danger and the worry, Ryuji felt a sting. Every time the others had to fight yet another guard, he was obligated to stay back or behind cover and hiding like a coward while he waited for other, more powerful people to clear the way for him which did not fare well with his instincts screaming at him to move his lazy rear, somewhere people were being tortured by Kamoshida right now. Yet he managed to keep his act together until their merry band arrived at a large set of double doors which a big banner plastered with luscious pink letters proclaimed to be-

"Kamoshida's training hall of love?" Ryuji's voice cracked in disbelief. "What is this bullshit?"

Morgana shushed him on the spot. The honest-to-god human opened the doors right away. Short howls, panicked hyperventilation, growls uttered through clenched teeth, tired sobs, cries of agony, pained groans and hoarse moans created the most unsettling cacophony of human suffering Ryuji's ears were ever forced to witness.

From the musty old passageway they had entered, three barred archways each allowed for a glance into a cell one floor lower.

Leaving both Morgana and Kurusu behind him, Ryuji rushed to the first of these, peeking inside. His stomach turned.

The interior of the cell was constructed like the sinister parody of a volleyball field, with the slight difference that this one served as a torture chamber: People were aligned at and bound to the net and the King's loyal henchmen thrashing them with clubs, whips or simply the blunt side of their blades. The victims squirmed and trembled from the blows.

Right then and there, Ryuji would have given a lot for the ability to just explode with rage. "What is this bullshit?!"

"What's got you all up and foaming?", Morgana asked blankly.

"You have to ask? This is beyond messed up!" He couldn't believe the cat would ask in earnest for something so blindly obvious. "How do I open this?" He was going to tear those knights apart with his bare hands if he had to.

"...stop that."

A whimpering voice called out. Cautiously, one of the tortured students approached them, arms wrapped tightly around his battered body.

"Leave us alone. It's bad enough that the King is mad at us because you defied him. Don't drag us into your mad shenanigans."

The boy was evidently off his rocker with fear. His eyes stared without blinking at Ryuji who tried his best at a soothing tone: "Hey, er...dude, I know you're afraid -terribly afraid. But you can trust us. We're here to rescue ya."

The slave in shorts recoiled as if he had just been offered a one-way trip to deadsville. His voice was but a whisper, shrieking with terror. "Are you insane? Any kind of revolt will only bring us more severe pain. And just when we've learned to live with this new degree."

"You wanna stay?" Ryuji was speechless.

"You don't get it. What we're doing is the only solution. Rebelling against the King is futile. But if we take the pain and learn to cope with it, he won't get mad at us." A crazed grin formed on the victim's lips. "You might be free for the time being but just you wait, they'll catch you and then you'll be executed and you will think back to this conversation and you'll see how we were right: Obedience and the ability to suffer quietly are the only virtues that'll get you anywhere in this world."

With that, the student turned away to assume his spot at the net.

Ryuji wanted to scream. He wanted to reach out to the boy and yell to his face how wrong he was, how trying to endure this kind of mistreatment world only lead him to either snap or damage vital parts of his own personality by suppressing the hurt, anger or grief caused by the abuse one too many times. He himself was familiar with both ways and didn't wish for anyone to go through what he had experienced. Alas, his voice failed him and soon, the cat interjected.

"Wait a sec, you came here for these guys? That's a lost cause."

"We can't leave them-"

"They're not real. When you two said you were looking for 'students from your school', I thought you meant _real _people from the _real _world who got trapped here just like you. This Palace manifests Kamoshida's view of the world and others. These are mere constructs of his cognition. Think of them as very realistic-looking dolls."

"But if they are based on real people, does that mean he treats their originals in a similar manner in the real world?"

Kurusu had spoken. He observed the goings on in the cell with an unreadable expression, features obscured behind his mask.

"Most likely", Morgana admitted.

The words of a certain student echoed in Ryuji's mind; careless gossip traversing the hallways of the school, hushed whispers about how Kamoshida treated the players of his team. That he was prone to using physical punishment. Frequently and with gusto.

He looked at the human punching bags in the cell. All of them wore the uniform of members of the volleyball team and some of their faces looked familiar to him. Slowly, his mind put the pieces together. There was a semblance of sense to the cat's mind-boggling ramblings. The school was a prison. The students were slaves. And Kamoshida ruled the place. The personnel bowed down to him. He did as he pleased. And the Palace revealed how things really were: Kamoshida turned into a literal king of a castle. Physical abuse turned into torture. And the desperation of the victims became clear as day.

A bitter laugh rambled up his throat at how on point this description was. If there existed an accurate portrayal of Kamoshida's mind, this was it.

He pulled out his phone to take pictures for evidence, only to find it out of service. He groaned in frustration. "Seriously? The navigation app works, but the camera doesn't?"

Morgana cocked his head. "Navigation app?"

"Yeah, it's what we used to come here. But since my damn camera doesn't work, I'll have to memorize their faces and recognize them later on when we're back at school. Could you... please... back me up?"

The cat shot him a disapproving glace. "Soon, the guards will notice how the outpost we defeated is missing. You have three minutes."

"That's imposs-"

"Three. Minutes."

As it turned out, being beaten to a pulp wasn't the worst punishment Kamoshida submitted his subjects to. The second cell held three unlucky athletes were forced to run on a sped-up training machine for times on end. As motivation served a bucket of delicious, refreshing water being dangled promisingly at the unreachable and of the line. Anyone who didn't run fast enough, however 'ran' the risk of being impaled on a set of murderous spikes. It reminded Ryuji heavily of when the track team was forced through tough practice without being allowed to drink a single drop. His comrades had the exact same dead look in their eyes as these 'cognitions' did.

The third cell was but a showcase of plain violence: Just one pitiable guy hanging from the ceiling all tied up, with a cannon firing volleyballs at him. Ryuji tried to imagine what the guy's face would look like if it weren't cramped in pain as he returned to his two temporary bodyguards.

"About time." Morgana was tense. "We gotta scram."

His prophecy came true: the guards outside the training hall where on edge and patrolled every route in pairs. The feline thief had to use every sneaky trick he knew to get the three through the tight net of patrols. He achieved this feat however and soon the door to the dungeons closed behind them.

Ryuji began to rejoice. Finally he had something on Kamoshida. Only the entrance hall stood between him and the compensation of his past mistakes. Once Kamoshida was gone, maybe the school would re-form the track team. He could bring back the old coach and his teammates. They would attend the championships again. And no one would have the right to call him a traitor again.

His optimism crashed into the literal metaphor of a wall of steel. An entire group of soldiers blocked the path to the infiltration point. Their captain, a giant knight in polished golden armour stepped forward.

"Seize them." He pointed the tip of his brutal-looking sword at Morgana. "This one first."

His three underlings removed their masks, transformed into demon horses and charged the smallest member of the group while their superior officer took on Kurusu. With his signature cat-like agility, Morgana dodged the first attack and managed to block the second with his melee weapon. The third would have hit him if Kurusu hadn't intervened in his behalf.

"Arsene!"

A bird-like mask, slid off by a red-gloved hand turned with a gust of blue fire into a well-dressed, winged demon who cleaved the beast in half. In return, the action left him wide open. The golden knight grabbed his sword with both hands and took a mighty swing at Arsene, shattering it to a million pieces. Kurusu recoiled, holding his head in evident pain.

Meanwhile, Ryuji cowered in the background torn between reason and the urge to act. He knew he couldn't do anything, really, but the thought of his companions -albeit ones he barely knew- getting hurt because he had dragged them down with him robbed him of his last bit of self-respect, just like it had done last time. His inner turmoil subsided when he witnessed his nemesis arrive on the scene.

The King stepped out on the balcony carried by the two sets of stairs leading up to the first floor. He observed the skirmish taking place in his entrance hall with mild confusion. His expression changed to a condescending smirk when his eyes fell on Ryuji.

"Did we really need further proof of your inability to learn from past mistakes, Sakamoto?" The monarch in almost no clothes leisurely descended the stairs while his guards pressured the intruders. "Though I have to admit, this level of bone-headedness is impressive even by your standards. You were always reckless, even back when you had the track team to rely on. You always had this drive to just 'go' without a second thought. And now look where it has led you."

Promptly, one of the demonic horses managed to headbutt Morgana with full force. The definitely-not-a-cat flew through the air and landed at the foot of the stairs. The King put his foot on the small of his enemy's back, emulating a triumphant pose whilst exposing his skimpy undergarments. His lusting yellow eyes pierced Ryuji like the words did his confidence.

"I am the King of this castle. I can do whatever I want. The absolute power of this decree has been confirmed many times over yet you keep trying to undermine it. And that's not even the worst of it."

A weakened Kurusu hit the ground next to Morgana. In an effort to mimic his master, the guard captain put his iron boot on the Kurusu's back, his sword hovering inches above the teen's neck. The remaining two horses surrounded Ryuji, towering over him and plummeting his confidence to rock-bottom.

His team battered and bruised.

Kamoshida laughing in triumph.

The scene was familiar indeed.

Suddenly he knew how this would end and this revelation sucked the anger right out of him. And without anger to drive him forward, he gave in under the weight of his desperation, literally and figuratively.

This didn't escape Kamoshida.

"No, the worst among your offences, Sakamoto, isn't that you raised your hand against me that fateful day; it's that you got others caught in the crossfire. Don't you think so too? All those comrades who looked up to you until your act of violence. You were their star, you know? That eyesore of a team would have given in long before I had their club disbanded if it hadn't been for you. But then you failed to keep your temper in check and they had to suffer for it. So many aspiring youths being denied their passion because of one dumb ape. Oh, how they must resent you."

As if he needed to be told that. The hateful gazes, the rumours about him being a troublemaker, the utter contempt with which most of the school treated him was only bearable as long as he had a goal to focus on, said goal being to reveal Kamoshida's dastardliness to the world. Without it he had nothing to keep him going. Memorizing the victims' faces had been a desperate effort, just like all his other attempts against Kamoshida. A vain try to prove to the others -and most importantly himself- that it hadn't been his fault.

How naive he had been. There was no way he could have succeeded with such a half-assed resolve.

"And even if you had something to pin on me", the King exclaimed as if reading Ryuji's mind, "nobody would listen to you. Your name has been discredited to the point I have heard people at school use it as a synonym for 'traitor'."

Laughing at his own joke, the King threw Ryuji an insinuating look, the sight of his crumbling foe clearly making him ecstatic.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should go and break your other leg too, preferably in broad daylight just to see what kind of contrived excuses those knaves will come up with to call it 'self-defence' this time. Because their minds won't even consider it an option that your claim might be just."

He raised his arms.

"You are truly a delight, Sakamoto! Your struggles annoy and amuse me equally! What a tease! Once these two are gone, you're next."

Kamoshida's roaring laughter created the perfect background score for the scene of Ryuji's downfall. There was no fight left in him. His life was a mess, it had always been one. And just when he had started to get a grip on it, his one chance at happiness, the track team, had been taken from him. In this case _he _had messed up.

He sought eye contact with Kurusu who lay beaten-up on the ground. Yet another comrade he had failed. If those were to be their last moments, he at least wanted to say how sorry he was to have dragged him into this.

The look on Kurusu's face stopped him. Behind the indifferent mask, two dark grey eyes threw a quiet accusation at him. Of course, he had every right to be mad at Ryuji for getting him involved in-

"You're _letting _him win", a stern voice accused, barely audible underneath the King's self-indulgence.

Even in the depths of absolute despair, having accepted his inability to change things for the better and standing on the edge of the cliff; this claim irked Ryuji.

_Me?_

_**Letting**__ Kamoshida win? _

_I'm not-_

"Oh, you most certainly are."

The laughter seized, as did all other noises.

He looked up.

Kurusu's stare had glazed over. Morgana had seized his struggles. The guards stood completely still, frozen in place. The King meanwhile kept broadly grinning at the ceiling with outstretched arms, moving not a single muscle.

He looked around, but soon the voice demanded his immediate attention. It was his own.

A figure leaned lazily with its back to the scene on the railings of the balcony.

"You allow him to talk you into submission. Haven't you taken notice of how every single word he says seems to hit a nerve with you? Why, 'tis because he aims them carefully at your vital spots and has probably rehearsed them multiple times over in his mind like a master marksman does with his prey and his tool before taking the shot."

Ryuji felt the weirdest sense of envy arise within him as he witnessed this strange entity use _his _voice to speak so eloquently.

"What the hell you talkin' about?", he barked.

The figure merely shook its head. A head covered in a turf of dyed blond hair.

"Granted, this would not be as infuriating if it weren't for the fact that you are already accustomed to his habit of barraging you with words until he has you exactly where he wants you. But sadly, you keep falling for the same stratagem. Tell me, do you even know why he came specifically after you that day?"

His cultivated tone gave the stranger an air of arrogance as he threw Ryuji the question like one would a piece of meat to the pit dogs.

Yet Ryuji's mouth simply spoke the answer he thought to be the correct one: "Because I was the best runner of the team he wanted to get rid of."

"Care to disclose to me who told you this?"

The penny dropped. "Kamoshida did."

"And as we have just established, his words are calculated and always have ulterior motives."

The stranger left the balcony and descended the same stairs the King had mere moments ago. He looked exactly like Ryuji, save for his yellow eyes, not dissimilar to Kamoshida's, and a limping leg.

"So there has to be another reason. What could it be? Why does someone who seeks control decide to terminate an innocent?" Not-Ryuji looked at him expectantly.

He hesitated. "'Cause he wants to get rid of him?"

"To eliminate a threat, yes."

"Threat? I didn't do nothin' to him before-"

"It's not about what you _do, _it's about who you _are._ Hundreds of students attend Shujin academy and dozens of them spread rumours about Kamoshida's detestable machinations yet he fears you specifically, because his instincts tell him that you are the only one impulsive enough that you might actually go out and do something about it. A meddler. Someone who can't stand by and let him do as he pleases. Someone too impulsive to be sufficiently restrained by social norms or differences in rank. You can tread on paths others wouldn't even consider."

The stranger stood next to the King and grimaced at the monarch's royally icky get-up. "Nobles. They are all the same."

"Dude, who are you even?"

Not-Ryuji raised his brow. "Might you be in the mood for a very wordy and drawn-out explanation?"

"Uh, no."

"Then I suggest we drop this topic and direct our attention to the matter at hand. You must permanently get rid of Kamoshida."

"I can't-"

"You can't?"

"No! The teachers turn a blind eye, the students are scared, I have no evidence to show the police-"

"There are other ways, as I'm sure you know. You can act on your own accord and break the rules if necessary."

"Yeah, sure. But that would make me one hell of a-"

"Troublemaker? The whole school already perceives you as one, therefore you can't lose anything in the reputation department."

"But that role was forced on me! I went after Kamoshida to prove that picture of me wrong", Ryuji lashed out, but his twin again had a counter at the ready.

"Is the fact they branded you 'traitor' and 'problem student' not indicator enough that they are not a group you should aspire to be part of? Do you really think redemption into a society this morally questionable to be preferable over embracing what that riff-raff labelled you as, if the latter option will provide you with all the strength, skills and opportunities you need to reach your goal?"

Ryuji tapped his forehead. "Are you nuts? What good would it do me to be stubborn, standoffish, unyielding rowdy who's always talking off the top of his head?"

His opponent grinned. Apparently he had been waiting for this.

"There was a man who took everything from you before Kamoshida did. A man you got rid of by chance, not of your own volition. Tell me, if this person showed up on your doorstep tomorrow and demanded to be let back in, could you send them packing?"

At the mere thought, Ryuji tensed. It was a fear he hadn't been aware of still residing in him. He couldn't even speak about _this_ topic.

The stranger knelt down in front of him.

"Figured as much", he murmured, seeing how Ryuji couldn't get his teeth apart in terror. "But if you were, say, a stubborn, standoffish, unyielding rowdy who's always talking off the top of his head..."

He gently laid a hand on Ryuji's shoulder.

"...what would you say to him?"

"..."

There was only one thing. One uttering he wanted to throw at his father, Kamoshida and anyone who looked at him with that condescending, that aggravating, that shit-eating 'What-can-you-possibly-do?'-grin on their face.

"THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING DOWN ON ME LIKE THAT FOR?"

The time lapse or whatever it was, broke. Ryuji stood upright, pointing at a visibly baffled Kamoshida in a silly outfit. Any attempt to make sense of the recently concluded scenario was squandered one split-second later when a red hot stamp got pressed into his face.

The agony was real. In no time at all, Ryuji was back down on the floor, convulsing in fits of pain while a disturbingly polite voice rung in his ears:

_Oh dear, you made me wait quite a while. You seek power, correct? Then let us form a pact. If your name has been disgraced, that means you're now free to wreak havoc under the protection of your very own flag of infamy. The 'other you' desires thus. I am thou, thou art I. There's no turning back. The skull of rebellion is your flag henceforth! _

As it turned out, the pain on his face originated from a mask on his face. Apparently he had worn it for so long it had merged with his skin and now sat more than just a bit too tight.

He couldn't breathe under there.

He would suffocate if he didn't-

Get.

It.

OFF!

Once more the decadent halls of the castle were illuminated by blue flames. The mask -it resembled the grim features of a human skull- came off with a spray of blood. This controlled separation transformed both the concealing accessory and Ryuji, its owner. Clothes that could match Kurusu's in terms of weirdness appeared above his regular outfit.

A black jacket matched the colour of his new pants and combat boots. He had never felt this comfortable in anything before. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A weight he had grown so used to carrying he had forgotten about its existence. But as of now, the energy it had cost him to uphold the struggle was free for reassignment. It felt great. Every fibre of his body joined in the melody of raw, vibrant potency with his heart dictating rhythm and speed to the roaring choir. This sentiment was shared by the entity floating behind him.

The glowing eyes of a skull face beneath a handsome tricorn matched his gaze. A cloaked skeleton on a miniature ghost ship hovered in the air like something right out of a pirate legend about defying the Royal Navy and burying vast treasures.

Ryuji felt reminded of his most challenging runs and let his instincts take over. Weirdly enough they gave the same advice Morgana had: _Catch your enemies off guard, then knock them down before they know what hit them._

The shadows already gawked at him in shock so it was probably time for step two.

Per command, his Persona lunged at the golden knight, who withdrew a few steps at the attack and let go of Kurusu. Ryuji helped him to his feet and found his own ecstatic grin mirrored on the other's face.

The King had retreated the second things were going out of hand and a newly freed Morgana soon joined the two.

Ryuji let his weapon hit the palm of his hand. It was a mere steel pipe; plain, blunt but effective. Just the way liked it.

"Three on three then. Time for some payback! I wanna fight that jerk in gold!", he announced. His comrades nodded and each took one of the two remaining horned beasts.

"Don't mock me, you brat!"

Ablaze with anger, the guard captain got rid of his own mask. His golden armour gave way to crimson plates of steel and from the abysmal black goo formed another demon horse, the back of which the officer settled in.

Having climbed the ranks from infantry to cavalry, the horseman ordered his steed to charge at Ryuji and drawing back the arm with his new weapon, a giant spear.

"Know your place!", he roared, putting all of his physical strength into a blow aimed at the teen-

-who knocked it aside like a harmless pitch throw.

Baffled, the captain let his guard down while standing lee than two feet away from his adversary. A brutal kick with the sole of Ryuji's boot broke one of the horse's front legs at the knee. The steed stumbled and its rider lost his balance; his head lowering significantly.

Ryuji couldn't have asked for a more welcoming opportunity. Putting his entire body into it, he whacked his opponent's helmet with his pipe. It rang like a bell but his foe wasn't quite done yet. Wild swings with the axe forced him to back off. Physical attacks seemed to have little effect due to the guy's thick armour.

The cavalier scoffed whilst regaining his posture. "Scum like you only has the right to exist if you obey King Kamoshida. Any resistance against his authority is futile!"

Ryuji accepted the challenge. "I'd rather find out for myself, cuz right now I feel like I could topple a dozen Kamoshidas!"

He dove into the flood of energy coursing through his veins; the raw potency, the drive to do something; begging to be used. A billion electric courses unified into one devastating current.

"Blast him away! CAPTAIN KIDD!", he roared and his ghostly companion aimed the canon of his right hand at the red rider.

+Zio+

The air itself burst. Layers of burned ozone recoiled hastily to pave the way for the racing, soaring flash carrying the equivalent of millions of electric volts of energy. Travelling at the speed of light, the natural disaster commanded by a human crossed the laughable distance between source and target. Thunder rang as the blinding lightning hit its mark, cooking the guard captain inside his armour.

Horse and rider collapsed. The long spear hit the ground when the fingers holding it crumbled into dust.

"How?" The metallic voice faltered in disbelief and terror. "As a loyal subject of King Kamoshida... defeat should be impossible for me..."

"Sorry to crush your dreams, Sir Buttlicker, but it looks like your boss ain't quite that special as he thinks he is", mocked Ryuji, adding insult to injury before his foe dissipated.

Meanwhile, Kurusu and Morgana had successfully dispatched the other two enemies. Everyone's attention turned to the only adversary remaining. The King had retreated to the foot of the stairs, all alone. The opportunity was too good to pass up.

Ryuji stepped forward, blood pumping in his veins. "Whaddya say, Your Highness? Ready to get your ass whopped?"

Instead, the man in a pink slip just laughed. "How many times do I have to tell you? This is _my _castle. I am the _King_. In here, I can do whatever I want. I control everything. Life..."

At a wink of his finger, a horde of masked slaves burst through a door on the left.

"Death..."

Another wave: two groups of guards, led by two more captains broke through the door on the right.

"Even love..."

A teenage girl in a purple bikini, which provided only a minimum of cover for her private zones, threw herself at Kamoshida, giggling incessantly as he caught her. She revealed her face to the group when the two of them turned around and Ryuji's heart sank from cloud nine back to good old harsh reality when aqua-blue eyes met his own.

"Taka...maki?"

_So you __**are**__ with him? You of all people?_

Smugly, Kamoshida ran a hand over the girl's thigh. Now that he had gotten the drop on his opponents once more, he began to enjoy himself again.

"I stand above the rest. My decree is absolute."

His thumb came down like the blade of a guillotine.

"Underlings! Dispose of them this instant!"

* * *

"That'll be 1,150 yen."

Ryuji left the pay on the counter and took his order. For the first time in a long while, his fingers shook so much that he grew afraid he wouldn't be able to transport the tray without making the bowl of ramen stationed on it shed some of its contents.

They had run. Of course they had run. With what looked like half a battalion's worth of enemies pouncing on their weakened little group, Morgana had ordered them to scram. Ryuji still had mixed feelings about this cowardly retreat but leaned more and more towards agreeing with it as time went on. The rush caused by his decision; the act of 'awakening to one's true potential' as that smart-aleck cat had put it; had made him feel courageous, invincible even but that of course had been a delusion. Now, being back in the stubbornly normal real world, manoeuvring a tray through the queues, he began to feel the weakness in his knees and his accelerated pulse which the adrenaline rush had temporarily concealed. He was still just a run-on-the-mill teen reacting to mortal danger like anyone else would. If he had stayed, he probably would have died.

Expertly navigating the crowd, he made his way to Kurusu who had agreed to his offer for dinner but insisted on getting his own bowl of ramen separately and was currently seated at the outmost chair of the small restaurant.

The mysterious transfer student still posed an enigma to him. With an unknown background, no acquaintances to speak of and hardly ever uttering a word, the frizzy-haired teen with the retro glasses defied all forms of categorization. Granted, he had only met the guy two days prior but even that should be enough for a rough first impression at least. The way things were now, he had no way of guessing what his silent partner-in-crime would do next: quietly stare at somebody's shoes like usual or make a surprise joke or grandly reveal himself to be the host of a show with a hidden camera who had 'just a prank, bro!'-ed him. Anything was possible with this wild card.

"Yo, I see you're a fan of the classics?", he greeted the secluded student with an eye on his regular ramen-bowl. Kurusu merely shrugged, refusing to let himself be drawn into a conversation.

This would not do, figured Ryuji. The two of them had been through a lot in the last forty-eight hours, unintentionally or not. If they were to take on that bastard Kamoshida together, he would have to know whom he was dealing with here. That meant forcing a discussion about a topic Kurusu wouldn't be able to simply avoid. Unfortunately, there was only one he could think of.

"So, that criminal record of yours... is it true?"

Kurusu tensed up, braced himself and gave a reluctant nod.

"You were charged and convicted for assault?"

Kurusu hummed in response.

"Huh. Kinda unusual for student gossip to be so accurate-"

"How many people know?"

It was a whispered question. Ryuji suspected he had already guessed the answer.

"Sorry, dude. Everyone knows. It's topic number one."

Kurusu took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "How?"

Ryuji scoffed. "Kamoshida must've spilled the beans, otherwise there would be no way it could've spread this quickly."

At the sight of a now shrunken Kurusu, he was quick to add: "But I personally don't really care about that stuff. It would help if you told me your story yourself, tho. Just to split truth from gossip, ya know?"

Kurusu simply examined him thoroughly. Again, completely unreadable. He could prepare himself just as well for a love confession or a violent outburst behind those unassuming glasses of his. Instead he began to stare down the noodles and meat in his bowl and spoke reluctantly.

His story turned out to be quite different from what Ryuji expected. By the end of it, he was up and ready to beat monsters into submission again.

"How much shittier can you get?! And now they forced you to leave home and live here just 'cause some asshole's claim got falsely admitted?!"

"Not so loud, Sakamoto", was all Kurusu had to say.

Ryuji's appreciation for the quiet one's discipline went up an additional notch. He himself was known far and wide for his impulsive nature and he possessed enough self-reflection to know how most of those claims to be true. Regardless, some of his best decisions had come from relying on his instincts and right now he was certain that if anyone could have his back against Kamoshida, it had to be this guy. A fellow victim of a rotten adult's machinations.

Spontaneously, he grabbed a nearby pair of pliers and put a ball of ginger into Kurusu's bowl. He handwaved any inquiries.

"Just let me do it. Seems we're more alike than I thought. Listen, I'm planning to investigate all those volleyball players we saw in the castle today. I memorized their faces real good and maybe they'll spill something about the physical abuse Kamoshida's putting them through. What do you say if we two problem students team up and finally go up against that bastard who has the whole school in his hand? No one else will and he won't stop bullying us anyway. Are you in?"

Kurusu regarded him a full minute. Then:

"Okay."

"Awesome! " Effusively, Ryuji punched his shoulder. "I got your back like you got mine from tomorrow on! But there's one last thing: You gotta stop callin' me 'Sakamoto' all the time. No one I'm friends with calls me that. It has many... negative connotation. Call me Ryuji like I asked you, alright?"

Kurusu fidgeted in his seat. "That won't be necessary-"

A second ball of ginger landed in his bowl. Ryuji threatened him with the pliers.

Kurusu gave a sigh. "Please stop... Ryuji."

He grinned, satisfied. "Why though? You don't like ginger?"

"I haven't really tried it up until now."

"Then it's about time."

Cue a third ball of ginger joining the others already swimming in the soup.


	9. Tip the Scale

Chapter 9: Tip the Scale

**April 13th, 20XX. Wednesday. After school.**

The investigation was a bust.

An utter and complete bust with almost no redeeming qualities.

Everything had started out well for them: What better way to search for injured volleyball players than at a school-wide volleyball rally event? Ryuji had send Akira the data about which classes the students they'd seen yesterday belonged to via text. They had managed to find every single player Ryuji remembered from the castle. But the good news ended there since none of these students had said one word to incriminate Kamoshida. Not through subtle line of questioning. Not even when Ryuji had asked them straight out about their visibly horrible injuries.

Akira recalled the three players he had 'interviewed' after he and his sort-of buddy had split up to cover more ground in less time. All of them had been severely bandaged, to the point where two of them couldn't possibly have played in a match today with a fractured leg or arm and probably only wore their volleyball outfit on principle. With the same misguided loyalty as their comrades, they had insisted that their coach was by no means the cause for their bad shape and had declared their injuries to be the result of 'tough practice'. Even Akira who knew next to nothing about the circumstances at Shujin found that hard to believe.

_Tough practice gives you muscle ache, not a broken leg or a black eye the size of an omelette. _

Their behaviour seemed intuitively suspicious to him, although he probably shouldn't go merely by how they behaved towards him specifically. Someone entering defence mode as soon as they came around to the fact of him being 'that transfer student' had become the norm and the volleyball players were no different. Most of them refused to say anything substantial now that they had to determine for themselves whether the flattering rumours coursing around about him in Shujin's halls were true or not yet exaggerated enough.

Only one of them had had a minor slip-up. It was but a name. A weak hint which could potentially lead to the next vague trace. Akira wasn't confident enough to brag about this to Ryuji and had simply texted him about having concluded the questioning.

Seconds later, Ryuji replied that he would join him at the rendezvous point as soon as he was done on his end.

'Rendezvous point' meant 'a slightly hidden corner of the school courtyard next to some vending machines, benches and a lunch table'. Akira busied himself by memorizing all the drink prizes to pass the time until Ryuji's arrival. Usually, keeping quiet and looking busy sufficed to prevent most passers-by from striking up an unwanted and tedious conversation with him. Less so if someone was actively looking for him, as was the case today.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?", a girl asked.

Recognizing her voice immediately put him on edge. Takamaki-san was the last person he had expected to approach him, not only because they hadn't said a word to each other after their encounter the day before yesterday, but also because the memory of her hugging the King in a skimpy bikini was still fresh in his mind (even though Morgana had declared that scarcely clad figure to be a production of Kamoshida's depraved psyche) and he couldn't help but feel as if he had somehow invaded her privacy.

The real Takamaki-san wore a disapproving frown instead of a silly grin and neither tasteless swim gear nor her usual clothes. For the volleyball rally all students except for members of the volleyball team, had changed into their sports uniform, consisting of the same red tracksuit for everyone.

This made it all the more surprising how much Takamaki-san's exotic looks made her stand out among dozens of same-o's. Her flawless face lied like an idyllic island between the streams of her platinum blonde pigtails. Her eyes shone strongly aqua-blue.

Or maybe that was just the angry glare she was giving him.

Over all the staring he had missed his chance at a response and Takamaki-san took his silence to be the absence of any objections.

"Don't worry, it'll be quick." She stepped in closer, carefully blocking the only exit from the tight area.

"What is your deal?", she asked and added without giving him time to construct an answer: "Since I met you on my way to Shujin on Monday, I know Kawakami lied to the class about to the class about why you were late. There are tons of rumours dubbing you a criminal, an escaped convict, a violent delinquent and more after a mere three days. What's more, today you sneak around the school pestering the volleyball team with questions about physical abuse."

She fired all of this at him at a rapid pace, her voice in an almost scolding tone, as if she wanted to leave him absolutely no room for argument. She was either very angry or very desperate. Now where had he seen that correlation before?

"What do you want from him?"

Ryuji leaned at the corner, his stare drilling holes into the back of Takamaki-san's head.

She whipped around, matching his aggravated tone. "Why? What's it to you?"

"I asked first."

"So what?"

"I'm sayin': Say what you came here to say and then get bent, why don't ya?"

Relieved of Takamaki-san's attention, Akira took a breather and observed their little back-and-forth. The duo did not go easy on one another.

"Why? So you can continue in your fruitless endeavour to get dirt on Kamoshida?"

"Oh, of course. That would kinda bother you, wouldn't it? Are you all buddy-buddy with him, like they say?"

Ryuji seemed to have hit a nerve. Takamaki-san barely managed to swallow a harsh reply. "That... doesn't concern you."

The boy spat. "If you knew what he does behind your back, you'd dump him right away!"

Her eyes grew wide. "Behind my back...? What do you mean? Be concrete", she demanded.

Caught up in the heat of the moment, Ryuji prepared a powerful retort until catching Akira's warning look. Explaining what they had on Kamoshida would certainly involve the Metaverse and their first attempts to tell outsiders about anything concerning this strange otherworld had taught them that these weren't exactly the kinds of arguments most people considered 'reasonable'. For once, the foul-mouthed teen got a hold on his temper. Eventually, he brushed the girl off with a simple 'You wouldn't get it', which to be fair, was probably not a lie.

Takamaki-san of course didn't know that.

"What kind of lacklustre answer-"

"Are you gonna be done anytime soon?"

"Listen here, Sakamoto, 'cause this is the only warning you'll get from me: Stop prying. No one will help you if you butt heads with Kamoshida again. You might even drag others down with you. Mark my words."

Huffing, she hurried of, her fabulous locks bouncing with every energetic step. Ryuji waited for her to be out of earshot before addressing Akira:

"Don't worry. She's angry all the time, lately."

"You know her?"

"Wouldn't go that far. We went to the same middle school."

"Please, go on."

"What? No! We aren't done with our investigation yet. Although we might be close to it. The guys I asked didn't spill anythin'. Did you have any luck on your end?"

"I got a name."

* * *

"Yo, Mishima. Got a sec?"

The lanky boy with spiky blue-tinted black hair ducked his head at the sound of his name. He peeked over his shoulder to see Akira and Ryuji coming towards him and proceeded to shrink further.

"S-S-S-Sakamoto? Sorry, but I'm in a hurry and-" Stammering excessively, he tried to read the school exit leading to a wide open area to wonderfully merge with the masses in -but Ryuji caught him just in time.

"C'mon man, don't be like that, we just want to have a little chat."

Meticulously, Akira examined the average-looking student. A second-year from his class, 2-D, dressed in a standard Shujin white turtleneck shirt and red plaid trousers sans the black blazer. Moreover, he showed the same symptoms as the other members of the volleyball team. His worryingly pale face was covered in bruises, one of his wrists covered in bandages and he exuded a somewhat jumpy air as if he lived in constant fear of his surroundings.

During a match of the volleyball rally today, this same teen had received a powerful spike to the face by none other than Kamoshida himself and one mumbling team member had accidentally mentioned to Akira how the infamous PE-teacher had done a number on the guy multiple times already. According to Ryuji, the man who thought himself to be a king went hardest on those whom he felt he couldn't sufficiently control. In that case, Yuuki Mishima might be just the guy they were looking for.

"Not to be rude or anythin', man, but you look awful", Ryuji began in an innocent tone. "Where did you get those bruises?"

Akira never took his eyes off the teen. He had seen the same harassed in his eyes as the others.

His answer was more of a suggestion than a statement: "From practice?"

_The standard explanation. All of your team mates said the same. And they all snapped after we pried further. _

Ryuji went along with it. "You got all of those from practice? Though luck, dude. Then what about that 'special coaching' Kamoshida gives you?"

Mishima's eyes doubled their size. He was evidently mortified.

"Look, it doesn't matter how we know, all right? We just do, but we need proof and you can help us with that ", Ryuji pushed him, trying as hard as he could to sound consoling."Just tell us. That 'practice' he's forcing you through... isn't it more like physical abuse?"

The fear faded from Mishima's eyes. Instead, they assumed a deeply forlorn look, making their irises look like holes in a skull. His quivering lips barely moved to form the words which should render Akira's and Ryuji's efforts so very pointless.

"It doesn't matter. The principal, the teachers and even our parents know what he's doing to the players on his team. But nobody cares or dares to interfere. Kamoshida is untouchable, Sakamoto. Give it up."

* * *

**April 14th, 20XX. Thursday. Lunchtime.**

It was his third time at the vending machines and Akira had already around half of the prizes engraved into his memory. The drinks outside school were more appealing to him.

In front of him, Ryuji paced back and forth, busily recapping their previous failures concerning the Kamoshida investigation. Not exactly a necessary act, considering Akira had been there to see most of it happen but he guessed that his companion needed to distract himself from his ever increasing frustration.

"...and then I went to all the volleyball players _again_ to try and convince 'em otherwise but they all shut their mouths and wouldn't budge. We're at a dead end", Ryuji concluded. The leftovers of his ever overflowing energy were disposed of via a heavy sigh.

"Feeling tempted to call it quits?", Akira tested the waters.

"You're kiddin'. Way too early for that." Ryuji stabbed the air above him with his index finger. "If the players themselves won't run their mouths, we'll dig one layer deeper. Kamoshida doesn't have their friends an' buddies under his thumb as much but they're close enough to the team to have noticed anythin' fishy. And I know someone who's BFF's with a starter."

"Takamaki-san?"

Ryuji's baffled expression betrayed the truth.

"How did you-"

"Lucky guess." _It was. She's the only kinda-sorta acquaintance of yours I know._

Akira felt a sudden itch trying to convince certain muscles in his cheeks to pull up. Afraid to appear tactless, he immediately committed all of his willpower to the cause of suppressing this silly before he could fail at this pointless endeavour, his doomed battle was cancelled out by divine intervention.

Or at least that was what it seemed like.

"I finally found you", a voice said from nowhere in particular. Judging by the volume, its owner should have stood right next to him, but Akira saw no one in the corner save for Ryuji and himself.

Then his gaze fell upon the lone plastic table. On it, there stood a four-legged, tailed creature with black fur, white paws and a white muzzle. The animal wore a bright yellow collar and stared at him with wide, angry blue eyes. It appeared to be just a normal cat, staring like cats do, frowning like cats do, and opening its tiny mouth to meow like all cats do:

"You won't escape me again."

_Never mind. It talks. And with a very familiar voice at that._

The feline eavesdropper confirmed the wild suspicion dawning upon Akira's mind.

"It's me, you idiots! Morgana!"

One could almost see the cogwheels in Ryuji's head turning as he looked down on the adorable fur ball.

"You're in our world... and you're a cat..."

Morgana grit his teeth at him. "I'm. Not. A-"

Suddenly, Ryuji had a thought. "Cats aren't allowed on the school grounds. If the teachers catch you here, we'll be accused of breakin' the rules again!"

Right on cue two teachers entered at the far end of the courtyard.

"Aw, crap!" Ryuji grabbed the honest-to-god human by the collar and turned to Akira. "C'mon, we gotta go to the rooftop ASAP. Hide the cat in your bag and hurry."

"I'M! NOT! A-"

Once again, Morgana's pleads died away when his supposed allies stuffed him in a school bag and made a run for it. Akira found it quite difficult to get a firm grip on his bag since the compulsory passenger's temper tantrum lasted all the way to the rooftop. Eventually, he just pressed it against his chest and ran, trying not to think about what his gossip-happy fellow students witnessing it would come up with to explain this scenario.

Once they were on the rooftop, Ryuji slammed the door shut and Akira opened the zipper on his bag. Morgana jumped out, hissing at the two of them like a snake with a look of utter betrayal in his eyes.

Ryuji wasn't having it, though.

"Save it cat. You almost got us into trouble back there. And if anyone overheard you screamin'-"

"-they'd be none the wiser. I spent all day searching the school for you two disloyal disciples and whenever I tried to talk to someone else they only heard a cat meowing."

_Oh, those poor, poor kids. Able to just go on with their lives, blissfully unaware of the existential terror, the flawed society and deadly otherworlds surrounding them. _

"Y'know cat, your normal condescendin' tone is already aggravating enough but that angry attitude really takes the cake. Be a little nicer, yeah?"

"Ohohohoho, that is rich coming from you. You _ditched _me, repaying my guidance and hospitality with nothing but cowardice and spite. Oh, cruel world where the righteous are punished by having to coexist with the morally twisted."

Ryuji made a hurling gesture. "Don't forget about the hypocrites. For all your beratin' us, you where the one to come here. So stop trying to guilt-trip us and get to the point."

Mustering all his inner strength, Morgana swallowed another sassy answer. He took a deep breath.

"For what's worth it, you're not wrong. I _do _need your help. Palaces like Kamoshida's hold the secret to regaining my human form but I can't clear the castle on my own. Regrettably."

Never one to go easy on his furry frenemy, Ryuji continued to play the sceptic: "Dude, with the way you look right now, your 'I'm-totally-a-human'-claim sounds even less believable than before and that is sayin' something."

Angry tail-whipping. "It's my first time visiting your world and this just happened when I got here, I don't know why."

"So you're stuck on all ends, aren't ya?"

"That's my line", meowed Morgana with a saccharine grin. "How's your crusade against your PE-teacher coming along?"

That one hit the mark. Defeated, Ryuji hung his shoulders. "Gotta admit, not great."

"I know. I overheard you."

"Whyyyyy...?"

"I just wanted to see you dejected." Smug smirking suited Morgana's actual cat face even more than his usual one. "To put you in your place and prepare the stage for the grand reveal that I, the great Morgana, have the perfect solution to all of your problems."

Eyes rolling around the world, Ryuji threw Akira a glance which he completely missed. Some instinct tased him awake from his usual composed state as if to say: _Pay attention, fool. This is important._

Morgana positioned himself on one of the discarded tables and straightened up. With the most imposing meow ever produced by an honest-to-god human he bestowed the following revelation upon them:

"The greatest secret of the Metaverse: Stealing someone's heart."

"Wait a sec, is this gonna turn into another mind-blowing explanation?"

"Don't worry; I'll keep it simple just for you. _Just _for you." Morgana winked and then went back to business. "As you two have seen for yourself the two dimensions can directly affect each other. The Palaces in the Metaverse are manifestations of the minds of existing humans; places where their mental images take actual physical shape. As do the distorted desires which cause them to behave dastardly in the real world. These desires are represented in a special object, the so-called 'Treasure'. They can be stolen from the Palace thus literally extracting the rulers' distorted desires from his 'mind'."

Morgana paused for a moment. "Sounds like just what you need right now, doesn't it? But there's a catch..."

* * *

"Desires are what drive people to act selfish, cruel or violent, hurting around them as a result, but they are also what we humans need in order to survive. The desire to eat, sleep, drink, breathe and the like. If you were to steal Kamoshida's heart and take even his most basic desires away, even the will to live... he might just die."

Morgana's words rang in Akira's ears long after they parted ways on the rooftop. Ryuji had insisted on getting some time to think about it and he had never been more thankful for his thick headed companion who had negotiated the impatient cat out of an immediate decision.

_He might die..._

Suguru Kamoshida was undoubtedly a bad man. A mere three days at Shujin had been enough to confirm that once and for all. Abusing his own team, breaking Ryuji's leg, mistreating Mishima, getting colleagues fired on purpose, supposedly leaking Akira's criminal record and generally trampling on anyone he didn't approve of, the former top-athlete still possessed the gall to think of and present himself as a virtuous idol. He would most likely continue to wreck others' lives to solidify his achievements.

The principal, the teachers and even the parents turned a blind eye as long as Kamoshida earned the school a good reputation with the volleyball team's successes. The suffering students were afraid or powerless or both. And even if Ryuji and Akira had decided to resist him with all they had, so far, their efforts to get anything substantial on him had been in vain. No proof meant no support either. They were indeed stuck. And now Morgana had offered them a new solution which could potentially remove the very root of the wretched problem. Only downside: said solution would put their target in mortal danger. Of course his death wasn't guaranteed but neither was his survival.

_And besides, who am I to decide over someone else's livelihood?_

Mulling such thoughts, Akira was on the way to Leblanc when a panicked voice broke through the grey haze.

"You can't be serious!"

Few words from this voice had ever reached his ears, yet he recognized it instantly. Apparently, Takamaki-san's voice was just as memorable as her appearance. She stood just a few feet away from him, slightly huddled in a corner right next to the Shibuya Central Station exit and pleaded with someone on her phone.

"Suggesting this kind of-! And you call yourself a teacher?"

Already, her voice leaned towards cracking. And whatever the person on the other end said next sent her over the edge.

"No way", he heard her whisper. She stood still, gazing off into the distance.

Then she collapsed. Just sat down in the middle of everything to hide her face in her hands as her shoulders started to tremble erratically. The tide of people dodged her with many an angry glare directed at her for blocking their path.

Akira meanwhile couldn't move one inch. His mind raced. Once more, he felt his conscience revolt against...what exactly? He felt pathetic for not being able to describe this weird sense of not wanting to be associated with someone who broke the unwritten rules even though such a feeling was pretty redundant at this point since he'd already put it behind him.

It would've taken him ages to make a move hadn't Takamaki-san suddenly perked up. As if sensing his gaze on her, she peeked at him over her folded arms and their eyes met.

The debate got settled in an instant.

Even though she ran away from him at first, even though they were complete strangers to one another and even though she regarded him -rightfully- like a weirdo, he offered her what little help he could. And when she asked the question, he was able to reply honestly.

"Why are you doing this?", she demanded to know while wiping her nose with a tissue.

"I don't want to turn a blind eye."

Takamaki-san made a noise somewhere between a snort and a huff. "Sure. That's definitely the reason. The goodness of your heart."

With her composure making a comeback her demeanour grew colder by the second. On one hand, Akira was certainly glad to see her emotional turmoil gradually die down. On the other hand however, he began to feel slightly awkward seeing how they had relocated from the busy streets of Shibuya to a nearby restaurant and were currently sitting on opposing sides of the same table. Alone. Just one boy and one girl claiming a booth for themselves. Yes, definitely awkward. It was the closest he had come to experiencing an actual date in his young life. And the way she looked around the place made him speculate on her trying to find the least impolite way to excuse herself and leave as soon as possible. He couldn't afford that, though. There was one thing he needed from her.

"That person whom you talked to on the phone..."

She froze while inspecting the restaurant exit, face turned all the way to the right. "How much did you hear?"

She didn't make eye contact and he sure as hell wouldn't be the one to try and initiate it.

"Was it a teacher?", he asked his side of the table.

He could almost feel her reconstructed guard tightening, plucking up all holes in her defence. "No, I-"

"Was it Kamoshida?"

The answer never made it out of her throat but the hand he could see lying on the table squeezed down hard on the issue she held. He didn't dare to pry further.

"He...he asked me...to do him a...a favour if I didn't want...for my friend to lose her starting position."

Slowly, gradually the words dropped from her mouth like droplets of water from the ceiling of a cave. Her breaths were long and a little deeper than necessary.

"An impossible favour, but...it seems that's all I can do at this rate."

Her voice cracked at that and he finally dared to look up at her. From her absent-minded gaze at the adjacent wall to the occasional quiver of her chin, it became clear to him that her composure was but a thin layer, a superficial laissez-faire attitude beneath which laid something he couldn't fathom. Something abysmal.

"Everybody already says we're getting it on, Can you believe that? Me and... And him? And now he wants to actually...and I can't dodge him anymore..."

One more tear ran down her cheek.

"I wish he would go away. Just for him to disappear and for things to clear up after he's gone. But that won't happen, right? Ever. Even after we've left school. There's no way-"

"There might be..."

"Mh? What?"

Akira had meant to keep those words in his head. Instead, they pulled Takamaki-san from her trance. She stared at him, blankly.

"What am I saying? Why am I saying...?"

It took her about three seconds to reattach her normal behaviour.

"Excuse me."

And just like that, Takamaki-san grabbed her bag, downed her nearly full glass in one go and stepped around his chair to leave the booth. She acted too quickly for him to react to any of it.

"You have been very kind, Kurusu-kun, but I need to get going. You won't have to bother with me anymore. As for Kamoshida...I'll think of something", she assured him. Her badly veiled flat tone made it all the more apparent that there wasn't a hint of hope in her voice.

* * *

**April 15th, 20XX. Friday. Daytime.**

Clouds.

Thick and heavy. Grey and white.

Floating thousands of feet above the highest buildings, above the tiny little humanoids honestly believing the universe to revolve around them.

Some see them as nothing more than giant amalgamations of gaseous hydrogen. Some search them for figures, stimulating their minds. Some judge them based on their potential for rain.

Yet the clouds remained unfazed. Unchanged by how those better ants perceived them. Forever travelling the sky, or staying eternally in place depending on the point of view, they remained indifferent to mankind's struggles, indifferent to the hurried chaos of the maze-like streets of Shibuya, indifferent to the enormous effort Akira had to put in, to keep the illusion of the unassuming student going.

He stared at heaven's grey-bearded wanderers while sitting slouched over on his desk; his mind dwindling between extreme boredom and boiling emotions. Knowing about Takamaki-san's situation had added a lot of fuel to the debate around stealing Kamoshida's heart. It added a whole bunch of previously unknown and exceptionally horrid offences to the PE-teachers' record of misdeeds. Moreover, it made going along with this highly ethically questionable procedure seem all the more like the only possible solution.

On the other hand waited the argument of human life being sacred, brandishing its massive 'How-dare-you'-club. Between the two extremes, Akira's moral compass ran a considerable risk of taking some serious damage if he dwelled on the issue too much.

Luckily, Morgana distracted him by almost giving him a heart attack.

"Hey, down here."

A black tail with a white end brushed his thigh. An adorable white muzzle appeared from the shelf underneath the desks plate and blue eyes winked at him from the dark.

"Sup?"

Muted, Akira's reply came in form of a stare.

"Cats -I mean, _I _get everywhere, no problem. Do you have an answer for me?"

He shook his head. He was farther away from an answer than yesterday.

Morgana frowned. "Seriously? We'll be careful, I promise-"

"Kurusu! Are you paying attention?"

Akira straightened up. "Yes, Ushimaru-sensei."

"Splendid. Answering this question should be no task for you then. "

_Thanks a bunch, Morgana._

Excited voices arose outside the classroom. The corridor filled with the muffled sounds of more and more approaching students which was remarkable seeing how the period was still going. Ushimaru-sensei directed his disapproving frown at the door leading to the hallway. If he was planning to go out there and give those incompetent human beings a lecturing, his plans were foiled soon thereafter.

The door was ripped open, crashing against the wall. A quivering second-year threw four words into the room:

"She's going to jump."

Then he raced off to the next classroom.

Takamaki-san was on her feet before he'd finished talking. First to leave the classroom, she was followed in tow by Akira who acted on instinct and an inexplicable sense of dread.

The corridor was already packed with students who assembled around the windows facing the courtyard. Takamaki-san elbowed her way through the crowd, leaving him behind. Some of the staring students talked in low voices. Some covered their mouths with their hands. Some held onto each other. But none of them turned away or acted. Every single pair of eyes in Shujin Academy was glued to the small, slim figure standing at the edge of the fourth level, the very same rooftop he, Ryuji and Morgana had stood on yesterday, debating.

To be more precise, the shape stood on the very edge of the rooftop, outside of the barriers.

'She's going to jump', the boy had yelled.

_Oh God..._

The unknown girl left him no time to even begin to process, to label this a suicide attempt, to really grasp the depths of horror unfolding before him. A mere ten seconds after he'd discovered her, she did indeed jump. Or maybe 'jump' wasn't the right word. She took one foot off the ledge, hovered it above the abyss and then put her weight on it.

And fell.

Fell four floors and hit the ground in less than two heartbeats.

A collective gasp escaped dozens of throats. But the body itself hardly produced a sound when it hit the ground. In fact, seen from an elevated point of view, the girl's fall had as big an impact as a sack of grain. A sack with a name. A sack with friends and a family attached to it. A sack full of sensitive organs. A sack with easily broken legs.

Did she die? It hardly mattered. She was but one human among billions. And not even very talented or popular at that. Completely irrelevant to the greater goings on of the world. One petty creature of unbelievable unimportance to the cosmos. Some of her peers would bat an eye at it and maybe there would be a news report and the school would have to answer questions but that would be it.

The clouds would not change directions or hold their pace. The earth wouldn't stand still. Not even a new shadow would be created in the Metaverse.

This was entirely a matter between humans and even among the hundreds closest to her which made up the crowd silently watching as the body of their comrade was loaded into an ambulance, only four really cared.

First and foremost, Ann Takamaki who offered to accompany her friend to the hospital, crying her soul out in the clinically clean back of the bus as she did.

In second place came one Ryuji Sakamoto, an old acquaintance of hers from middle school who had lost contact with her. Nonetheless, the sight of her damaged body had him shaking in his boots.

Third came a particular infamous transfer student, basically a complete stranger who remembered having met her in the hallway once, when she told him not to let others' hateful words get to him. A small act, but an honest one.

Yuuki Mishima made the fourth since the gruesome sight send him running from the courtyard.

That was all.

Shiho Suzui's suicide attempt, if one could call it that, would in no way threaten the natural order of things.

Just as it had been decreed.

Life went on. The students would return to their classrooms. The clouds continued on their merry way.

And remarkably little had changed.

It would prove to be enough.

* * *

"Huuuuarghhhh..."

The unmistakable sound of not quite digested edibles hitting the inside of a plastic bucket greeted Akira and Ryuji as they entered the men's changing room. A boy in a sweaty white turtleneck shirt kneeled in a corner, reversing his lunch routine. Coughing like a plague patient, he turned to the duo, the sight of whom made him hurl again.

Far too angry to let the foul stench of leftovers stop him, Ryuji kneeled down next to him, forcing himself into the guy's field of view.

"You ran pretty fast back there, mate. Careful, that kinda speed could make others think you feel guilty 'bout somethin'."

Mishima refused to answer but Akira perceived a notable change in the teen's behaviour.

"Was Kamoshida involved?", Ryuji pried.

Mishima went silent, flinching at the name. He was different from when they had questioned him last time: shaken-up and horrified instead of exhausted and hopeless as if some part of him cried out loud at a deplorable state of affairs. If there had ever been a moment when they could get something out of him, this was it.

Going against his usual policies, Akira spoke up: "Mishima-san, Ryuji and I are the only ones in this school willing to do something about Kamoshida-sensei's machinations. If you think what he does is wrong, we're your allies so please help us."

Widened eyes searched for his and for once, Akira met someone else's gaze.

Mishima swallowed hard.

* * *

They found the former Olympic gold medallist sitting on a desk in the PE-faculty office; a circumstance which already spoke volumes: the entire school was up and about, teachers and students in various states of disarray, yet Suguru Kamoshida enjoyed a coffee break in a secluded room and kept as far from the action as possible. Despite knowing for a fact what a scumbag this man was, Akira still had trouble to connect this regular teacher with the monstrous image Mishima's report conjured. It also made him appear a lot more dangerous. A person capable of such wickedness yet insisting on carrying themselves as a morally upstanding citizen had more than just a few screws loose and was simultaneously capable of anything.

Unfortunately, he forgot to tell that to Ryuji who jumped on the now confirmed pervert the second he saw him. On the other hand, while Mishima's report had shocked Akira, his normally good-natured companion was beside himself with rage, to the point where Akira earnestly doubted he would have the guts to hold him back.

"How the hell can you just sit here like that?", Ryuji yelled at the seated man whose imposing stature made the desk he worked on look small.

Kamoshida turned to him, a slight frown on his face as if he had just received an annoying assignment rather than being yelled at full volume. "Come again?"

Ryuji kind of lost it at that.

"What in the whole holy hell-! Suzui hopping off the goddamn roof is your goddamn fault! You have this habit of 'calling' someone from your team to your office when you're in a bed mood and vent your anger on 'em by beatin' the shit outta them. Yesterday you called Suzui but for... OTHER PURPOSES!"

The veins of his neck grew more distinct the more the teen yelled.

"Sexual assault! You goddamn lecherous pig with abs assaulted on one of your students! A minor! Someone from your own team who's never. Done. Anythin'. To you. And just now she tried to kill herself 'cause she couldn't bear with the bullshit you gave her! But this time-! This time you won't get away with your machinations. This time we have proof!"

He pointed at Mishima who reflexively tried to hide behind Akira.

"We found someone who knows everything and is willing to talk. We're gonna go to the police right this afternoon and tell them all about your nonsense. Your done for, Kamoshida. We're just here to give you the chance to confess."

Click.

Kamoshida sealed his pen and rose from his chair. For a brief moment he seemed to wear a red cape rather than his usual jersey. He spoke loud and to no one in particular.

"It seems I still granted you too much leisure, Sakamoto. I was prepared to let bygones be bygones. I hoped so much you would find a way to make up for your misdeeds. But this is the last straw. These wild accusations prove that you have no intention of ever correcting your behaviour. And that sadly is something I'll have to report at the next board meeting."

The words were flat, static and without connection to anything he'd just been accused of.

"Dude, you can't report us if you're behind bars", Ryuji pointed out.

Kamoshida continued to play his part. "So you still insist on your ridiculous claims? Fine then. If you dare to bother the police with them though, I'll make sure to have the principal, the teachers and the students' parents firmly on my side. All of them will stand ready to defend me."

**My guards do everything I say.**

"Who do you think they'll believe?"

**I can do whatever I want.**

"The renowned, popular Olympic medallist?"

**I am the King.**

"Or the foul-mouthed troublemaker who has previously attacked him?"

**Trash like you.**

Kamoshida stepped close to Ryuji, looking down on him from up high. "The school relies on me to build its reputation."

**This is my castle.**

**"**Which you have been damaging by just attending here."

**You're an intruder.**

"And for that, I'm afraid I'll have to recommend at the next board meeting to expel you."

**I'll execute you.**

Akira could almost see Kamoshida and his alter ego, the mad King, sharing the very same space in existence. They were the same person, yet one denied the other, creating a very unhealthy situation which would continue to threaten the livelihood of all those around one man who couldn't cope with his dark side.

That was if nobody was able to fundamentally change the Situation in an unthinkable way.

Akira felt a strange tingle, the same excitement which had coursed through him after his vow to Arséne, his decision to rebel. He tapped a fuming Ryuji on the shoulder. "We'll have to go to 'that' place."

"You think?" His partner in crime mulled the thought over in his head, eyeing their defiant assailant. "Hm. Guess we have no choice", he mumbled, relaxing at the prospect of a way out.

For the first time, Kamoshida's confusion seemed honest.

"What are you blabbering about? There's nothing you can do." He shook his head. "Psh, whatever. If you'll excuse me, I have to come up with a reason to get each of expelled. Sakamoto. Boy, where to begin. For disorderly conduct and attempted badmouthing, I guess. Kurusu for behaving improperly by completely ignoring his criminal record as well as several warnings. And Mishima for leaking private info such as the transfer students aforementioned criminal record. That'll do just fine, don't you think?"

* * *

Vending machines, Round Four.

Akira and Ryuji sought the relative seclusion of their temporary hideout after they had left the PE-faculty office and a distraught Mishima had excused himself.

"I didn't misunderstand you back there, did I?", Ryuji inquired on the way. "You really want to go along with, er... 'that' plan? I doubt-"

Akira pressed a finger to his lips. Someone was in their spot.

Rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around her, Takamaki-san sat on the lone bench staring distantly at the empty seat next to her. Akira considered a retreat but once again, Ryuji acted faster than him.

"How's her condition?"

Slowly, the girl turned to them. She had evidently cried and unlike yesterday her tears hadn't been small cracks of composure but rather an utter collapse of her unbothered facade. Some loose strands of hair were glued to her forehead. Reddened cheeks revealed the extent of her mourning.

"Critical." She sniffed loudly. "But the doctors are confident she'll make it."

"Hey, that's one good thing today", Ryuji said, his voice surprisingly soft.

She hummed.

"We'll, er... be goin', then."

"Wait." She rose and stood up in front of him. Her words came hesitantly. "I know... I know what Shiho did -what happened today was Kamoshida's fault. I know that for a fact. You two were planning to do something about him earlier, weren't you? I want in on that."

Instantly, both boys knew for one, that under no circumstances could they take her with them to a castle full of dangers and two, that they needed to turn her away immediately, on the spot, this very second by all means necessary before she ended up casting suspicion on them. An arrogant conclusion indeed, but she simply had no idea what she was getting herself into.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." Ryuji was adamant about giving the truth a shot.

"Then tell me more about it and I will know what I'm getting into."

"No can do."

"No?"

"No."

"No, because?"

"No, 'cause... 'cause there is no plan."

A lie. Ugly but necessary.

"What are you saying? I heard you talk about-"

"We were joking of course. Who would ever plot against Kamoshida...-sensei in earnest?"

The last bit of colour vanished from Takamaki-san's face.

"You're lying." Her voice trembled.

Ryuji shrugged. "Believe what you want."

"But what am I supposed to do?" Her head sank.

"Um, I mean, who knows... maybe things will get better?"

She looked at him as if she wanted to lay her hands around his neck and squeeze until his head and body seized to be connected.

" 'Things will get better'? That's your advice? What are you, stupid?" Now in even worse a mood than before, she shoved them out of the way and left the courtyard, slamming the next door as she did.

Akira exchanged a cautious glance with his buddy.

Ryuji pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't say anything. Let's just find that cat."

* * *

Morgana awaited them at the yesterday-agreed-upon meeting spot, meaning the back alley adjacent to Shujin's main entrance.

"Afternoon", he meowed from atop a pipe. "Why the long faces?"

Ryuji grimaced. "Someone jumped off the-"

"Rhetorical question. I know. I was there. Oh, and I eavesdropped on your conversations with Mishima and Kamoshida too. From what I gathered you're now more in a pinch than ever and thus have decided to help me steal his heart, correct?"

"Uh, yeah... pretty much."

"Then let's get to work. Show me that app you use to enter the Metaverse."

Ryuji shoved his phone into the cat's face. "Here. Know anythin' about this?"

"Nope", was Morgana's reply after examining the eyeball icon for all of five seconds. "But if it has brought you to the Metaverse twice already, that's enough proof of its usefulness... I think."

"This again..."

To say that Morgana looked pleased would have been an understatement.

"Unless _you're _insecure about its capabilities?"

The world contorted. A school got replaced by a castle and the sky turned a gloomy red.

"I'd say it works damn good", Ryuji retorted, taking his thumb off the app's search history. "What 'bout you, cat?"

"Additionally", Morgana went on in an effort to cover up his surprise, "we should establish code names by which we can address each other in the Metaverse. Our masks and costumes may hide our faces and appearances, but no secret identity is complete without a code name."

The now bipedal feline creature proudly turned towards Akira. "I already have one for you: Joker. It reflects your ability to hold multiple Personas which makes you our ace and full of surprises. It's perfect, don't you think?"

He did. For some odd reason, the name felt as comfortable to him as the black coat which once more adorned his shoulders.

He told Morgana as much who burst with pride.

"What 'bout me?"

"Thug."

"The hell-!"

It took a while until they'd settled the issue to everyone's satisfaction.

"Skull, Mona...", Joker proclaimed while adjusting his gloves, "as Phantom Thieves, we will take Suguru Kamoshida's heart."


	10. Femme Fatale

Chapter 10: Femme Fatale

_No plan, my foot_, Ann thought, listening closely to the two boys mumbling in the alley.

From her hiding spot around the corner, she had heard loud and clear as they waltzed on about a last ditch effort to oppose Kamoshida. Sakamoto apparently had had the guts to directly lie to her face only to then turn around and discuss the very same matter in a nonchalant way with his silent buddy in a back alley where anyone who wasn't afraid of the two most infamous Shujin students could easily overhear them.

Only the presence of a cat confused her. Every now and again, a melodious meow would disrupt the flow of the conversation or rather the flow of Sakamoto's soliloquy since Kurusu spoke remarkably few words during the entire exchange. That attitude seemed to be somewhat characteristic for him, leaving Ann to wonder how the two of them had ever happened to get to know each other.

_Circumstance still makes the most unlikely allies, I guess. Much like-_

The image of Shiho flared up in her mind ere she could stop her train of thought. A whole flood of memories assaulted her. That time Shiho gifted her the sweater she wore at this very moment under her the blazer of her uniform, their shopping trips and lunch breaks together, the moment they decided to attend Shujin together...

Fighting back the next wave of tears, Ann collapsed, her back pressed against the rough wall. Shaking hands checked her phone. Mere hours had passed since her best friend had fallen off Shujin's rooftop.

_Yes, __**fallen. **__I refuse to believe you jumped, Shiho. All the others might call it a suicide attempt but you can't fool your BFF._

In Ann's mind, suicide was for people engulfed by despair, so caught up in their own jet black thoughts that the populator of graves appeared like the only solution to them, people who had no one to speak the words they needed to hear.

_You weren't like that, Shiho. And you had me. Or was that not enough? _

Some pessimistic part of her brain strongly insisted on this being the case just to make the disaster complete, but luckily logic indicated another argument: If Ann's judgement of her friend wasn't completely inaccurate, Shiho hadn't been endangered until yesterday. When they had last spoken to each other, she had seemed exhausted, depressed even, but not totally hopeless.

Something must've happened.

Something so monumentally horrifying it shattered Shiho's confidence. Something related to what had been muttered into Ann's ear as she held the broken husk of the kind girl who had once saved her from losing herself.

From slack, parched lips, four almost inaudible syllables had reached Ann's ear.

"Kamo...shi...da..."

_If it comes clear that you've done anything to her, you asshole, I swear, I'll- _

A string of pain disrupted her thoughts. Splitting headaches caused the world to blur before eyes. Reality itself appeared to contort and turn in on itself. Paired with the bizarre visual effects came an urge to vomit.

_Consequences of today's trauma?, _she mused distantly, pressing both hands to her mouth. _If I collapse now- _

Fortunately, the pressure from within her skull subsided as suddenly as it had occurred. Her body relaxed and with a small sigh of relief, Ann opened her eyes.

Eyes which apparently had nothing better to do than to deceive her by sending her brain the image of a medieval surrealist painter's dream: a towering, pompous castle right in front of her had taken the place of the giant grey block that was Shujin Academy's main building. The sky itself had turned a muddy red and clouds like piles of smog hovered above her.

Before Ann had time to feel properly unsettled by her sudden transition from the noisy streets of Tokyo to the deafening silence of a medieval courtyard, three figures clad in black rushed out of the alley in which Sakamoto and Kurusu had schemed mere moments ago. Two of them were human males of average height while the third could by no means be considered human, what with their two feet of height, oversized head and habit to occasionally walk on all fours.

The three phantoms strode single-mindedly towards the main portal of the castle, then took a turn left and disappeared from her field of view. So focused had they been in the pursuit of their quest, they hadn't even seen the female student huddled right next to their hiding spot.

**"Kamoshida. Shujin Academy. Pervert. Castle"**, listed a mechanic voice. Ann closed her mouth and directed her boggle-eyed stare at her phone to witness the next supernatural occurrence. An unfamiliar app icon proudly filled her display; a black eye on a red background sending weirdly mesmerizing geometric figures all across the screen... and beyond. Additionally, the same mechanic voice repeated the words over and over:

**"Kamoshida. Shujin Academy. Pervert. Castle." **

Slowly, careful not to anger the almighty gods of bad luck further, Ann laid the device on the ground and raised her freed hand to her other arm. Taking just a small portion of skin between her thumb and index finger, she pinched and twisted the soft flesh with all the strength she could muster.

_Ow. OW! Shit, I am awake!_

Pain and realization rocked her brain in harmony: Did the mechanic voice imply a connection between the lecherous volleyball teacher and this imposing piece of architecture? It persistently blabbered the four words like a subway train announcement.

Beginning to doubt her own sanity, Ann let her gaze wander the entirety of the castle's facade. Honestly, she could hardly imagine a farther stretch of the mind than that notorious sleazebag with but a regular teacher's salary living in a luxurious castle. A castle from medieval Europe no less, swanky and with narrowly a pagoda in sight. This entire situation screamed surrealism made to drive even people way smarter than herself insane. The sensible thing to do would have been to immediately try and return to Shujin, then get a decent psychiatrist and wait for news of Shiho's recovery like anyone else would have done. But there was the prospect of those three figures passing by her. She hadn't seen their faces but was willing to bet half a dozen packages of Pocky sticks that the two human-esque shapes had belonged to Sakamoto and Kurusu, the only two people in Shujin unafraid to actively plot against Kamoshida.

_If this __**is **__their super-secret plan to fight his influence... And if this fortress __**is**__ connected to him..._

She let out a muffled groan as she felt her meanderings come to a conclusion. The result was devastating in its clarity: If she truly wanted to find out what had happened to Shiho, she would have to investigate further. If the plea of those parched lips should not have fallen on deaf ears, she would have to follow this strange -and potentially dangerous- lead.

Saying her prayers, Ann got off the ground, pocketed her phone and began walking towards the main entrance. The crown of the walls towered above her, not like claws but rather like thick, stubby fingers ready to grab her. She certainly didn't feel the urge to hurry. She didn't know what to expect or even what to look for -a sign saying 'Property of S. Kamoshida. Please do come in and ask me about what I did to your friend' perhaps? Nah, Fate only had a knack for convenience when it came paired with irony.

Her search for clues should never come to pass, however. The castle gate swung open. A trio left the entrance hall. Unlike the previous three, these looked a lot less human. Two ten foot tall knights, armed with giant shields and swords entered the courtyard. Of course, they immediately spotted her. Even worse, they seemed to know her.

"Princess?", one of the armoured soldiers asked. His face was hidden behind an expressionless iron mask, but his voice betrayed his surprise.

"Impossible. The princess would never be found in such an odd place", his companion argued. "The readings peg her as an intruder."

Ann's heart dropped as the two ironclad giants surrounded her. If those weapons of theirs were real, each of them could easily overpower her. That was what the 5 percent of her brain which were still paying attention told her, anyways. The rest sounded a bit more like this:

_How?... Medieval knights? In the midst of Tokyo? That's more out of a place than a polo-team playing ice hockey. What is going on? What the hell is going on? Also: AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_

The two towered over her, stalling. Not daring to act on their own.

"Bring her before the King", a voice requested.

The newcomer, a knight in lavish golden armour waved to them, ordering like someone who has read too much Shakespeare and wants the world to take notice.

"Whether she be Princess or intruder, his Majesty shall be the judge of this matter."

Two massive, armoured gauntlets grabbed a hold of Ann left and right, their unnatural coldness easily traversing her clothes.

That flipped her switch. The guards took her through the exaggerated entrance hall and several corridors and she did not seize to kick, yell and struggle for one second of the way. She only ended up knocking over an armour set on exhibition which led her displeased captures to restrain her completely before they arrived at a door of unnerving pink colour.

When she came to, her first impression were her feet dangling above the ground which put an arduous strain on her arms. She could feel the blood leaving them already and discovered to her dismay how she was chained up to a metal device with all her limbs tied up. She whimpered as the weight of her own body caused the shackles to cut into her wrists.

"Are you nuts? This is torture device! I'll call the cops, I swear..."

Slowly, she realized how ridiculous her words were when they died away in the vast hall. It was a large room styled like a medieval theatre and decked out with red carpet. The device stood on a large, elevated half-circle adjacent to the only entrance. From there she was able to enjoy the disturbing view to the fullest.

A good two dozen figures littered the other half of the hall. All of them were topless, showing off their clearly female attributes while their behinds strained their skimpy bloomers, the only piece of clothing they wore. Softly moaning every now and again, their bodies withered back and forth in hypnotic circles, causing their exposed, sweaty skin to glisten in the dim violent light originating from somewhere Ann couldn't make out.

A man walked among them whom they all tried to approach. Wherever he walked, the movements of pleasure intensified while every faceless shape within reach patted the fur of hair on his muscular legs for he wore no pants. His height compared to that of a tall human male and his stride testified to a great deal of confidence. His short red, heart-adorned cape revealed a toned body between his steps and a tiny crown decorated his black locks. Under any other circumstances she would have sentenced his attire tasteless at best, perverted at worst but in this scenario it perfectly fit the term her mind put together while she watched him traversing the ranks of his admirers: the King of a harem.

The ill-dressed monarch left the faceless mass of female-esque bodies to their own devices and stepped onto the platform. Ultimately, it were his eyes that gave away his identity. From the first time they met, Kamoshida had always had a tendency to let his gaze wander over her form. This man did so too, only difference was the complete and utter lack of shame with which his eyeballs clung to her curves. King Kamoshida's gaze trailed her, all of her while leaving invisible stains where it passed by. His mouth contorted in disdain.

"How in the world did you manage to confuse her with my princess?", he asked.

The golden knight, apparently the guard captain straightened up without a reply.

"Granted, they do look a bit alike but the princess would never wander around without my consent. This one is just an intruder and not even one of those I told you to look out for."

Her ears perked up.

_Other intruders? Does he mean Sakamoto and Kurusu?_

"Where are they?" The question burst from her mouth, desperation making her grasp at straws.

The King grimaced at his underling, beckoning for someone in the crowd. "See? She's much too lively, even for a knave. _You_ would never talk when it's not your turn, would you, princess?"

Ann felt her jaw drop.

Leisurely, hips swaying from side to side, a tall, slender body emerged from the faceless masses. She found herself staring at a girl that -by all accounts- looked exactly like her. Which was doubly troublesome since her doppelganger wore almost nothing, as seemed to be the custom in this place. A skimpy, purple, polka-dotted bikini covered her private areas, leaving everything else exposed: midriff, thighs, hips, arms and legs. Her hair -platinum blonde, just like Ann's- was adorned by a small crystal diadem with black cat ears attached to it, an accessory more enticing than majestic. No queen would ever be caught dead wearing something like that.

Exhibitionist-Ann looked straight at and through her original to announce plainly: "Talking back is like, totally unforgiveable."

She then proceeded to stand there like a trophy on a shelf, meant to be marvelled at by everyone while lacking any substance beneath the surface.

Hot shame dripped down Ann's neck. She felt, for lack of a better word, defiled. She would have liked to yell to her image to put some damn clothes on, but her voice failed her and her shackles held firm.

"So, even if you look like my dear princess and are in fact her original, in here, in this castle, the world of my desires, you're just an intruder. Which means I get to do with you whatever I want." The King scratched his chin, the wheels behind his forehead visibly turning. "What shall we go with? Toying? Executing? First toying, then executing? Or maybe the other-"

Wham!

The doors slammed open.

Exasperated, the King slowly facepalmed. "Just when I am about to enjoy myself. Has become something of a routine lately, hasn't it?"

A familiar group consisting of two humans and a cat-thing burst into the room. They froze at the sight of the barely covered female-looking shapes.

"What the eff?", one of them exclaimed. Then his eyes fell on her. "Takamaki!"

The group broke into a sprint, only to come to a screeching halt amidst the harem when Ann's overseers moved. Suddenly, her neck was surrounded by two rods of steel, as sharp as razors. While the two regular guards at her sides kept her air canal trapped between their swords, the captain lifted his own weapon, ready to skewer her with his blade at a moment's notice.

"One. Step."

The King addressed the intruders with a tone and voice completely void of humour and bragging.

"Take one goddamn step closer and I'll have her torn into little pieces for you to collect off the ground."

Gritting his teeth, the vocal intruder, whom Ann figured to be Sakamoto, held his foe's gaze for a while before resigning himself to standing still amidst the crowd, fuming in silence.

Now, with his control of the situation firmly re-established, King Pants-are-for-Stuck-Ups returned his attention to her and his mood switch to 'pretentious'.

"As I always say, things would be so much easier if every knave just behaved and knew their place. I bet you're just like them. You came here because you were pissed and didn't think about the consequences. What was your trigger event?"

A last reserve of anger wallowed up within her but all attempts at throwing a cocky answer at him were suppressed by two deadly weapons inching in even closer on her neck.

"Ssssh. You're not supposed to speak. I know. It's about that girl who threw herself off the roof, isn't it?"

The anger conjured by _this_ condescending statement _didn't_ let itself be smothered by the puny threat of having her throat slit.

"How dare you! Shiho would never -grk!"

The blades were now directly pressed against her vulnerable skin.

"If that was her name." The King shrugged. "Moreover, she did what she did solely because of you."

She stopped struggling. All of a sudden, her own heartbeat began to hurt her. "What?"

"Oh, yes", the King went on in a carefree manner. "You rejected my generous proposal yesterday, remember? The issue with that is simply this: I am the King. My orders are absolute. Any violations of this decree have to be punished. And I knew nothing would teach you this lesson more thoroughly than something happening to what's-her-face. So I had her step in for you and perform the services you denied me. I can absolutely assure you that it wasn't a pleasure for me either but law is law and punishment is punishment. Wardens do not debate with the convicted and neither do executioners."

Nightmarish pictures assaulted Ann's mental eye. Images which had mortified her when Kamoshida's hoarse voice had slithered its way through the phone down her ear, describing what he wanted her to do. Back then they had been so utterly horrific, they washed even her resolve to protect Shiho away like a full-blown Tsunami would do with a couple of cherry blossoms. Now they resurfaced, starring her friend in every panel which made them a million times worse. The ultimate agony however, came from the salty, bitter knowledge that Shiho had actually been forced to make these depictions a reality.

_Because of me. Because I wasn't strong enough to stand by my choice. I failed._

Everything around her faded. The luxurious decor, the King's blabbering, the pressure of the swords on her neck. Her senses seized in their functions as she died from the inside.

An unknown voice spoke. Words sent in vain. Because there was nothing left for them to reach.

Nothing.

Not a thing.

Except for her failure.

Her utter and complete failure.

_All of this started just because he was attracted to me._

"Perceptive."

_Another problem brought upon by my damn looks. _

"Goodness, how tragic."

_I've never made an effort to get a grip on my attracting or repelling people without conscious effort._

_"_That _is _the root of your problem, yes."

_As long as I had Shiho...I didn't have to care about what anyone else said or thought about me._

"Basically, you've been relying on her strength to carry you."

_And now she's been caught in the crossfire...because of me...because of me attracting the wrong kind of people...and missing the chance to get a grip on it._

"Indeed. You are the most horrible of horrible friends whose feet ever stained the earth. You should just die, plain and simple. Have you tried to stop breathing?"

_Okay, what the hell? _

Ann opened her eyes wide, a movement she regretted instantly upon being confronted with yet another girl completely identical to her. Only difference to the previous doppelganger: this one had had the decency to copy her get-up as well and spoke with a hint of an alluring Spanish accent. Unlike previously, she wasn't the only immobilized subject in the room: The swaying crowd, the intruders, the guards and even the King were frozen in place. Nobody in the hall was able to move safe for her newest duplicate.

Ann was stunned. Her reflection was not.

"You think that's crazy talk? Is it crazier than giving in at the mere words of your sworn enemy? He's just admitted to the atrocities he put your friend through and your first reaction is not anger but guilt? What is wrong with you, chica?"

Ann the third did a harsh turn left, her platinum blonde hair fluttered as she paced the left side of the platform. Her words were low blows and uppercuts and Ann her stand-in punching bag.

"Weak. Pathetic, I dare say. She was your crutch and now that she has been taken from you, you're back to your old powerless self. But rather than taking this opportunity to show your own strength, you deem it better to simply give up? That's the real disturbing thing here."

Her mirror image was now pacing right and strangely enough, the dim light illuminating the atrocious room seemed to follow her. The sound of her heels echoed in the hall. Gestures emphasized her words, lending her angry monologue a certain grace, almost like a dance. Pirouetting passionately, she delivered her lines, not once stumbling on a word.

"You really didn't think this through, did you? Seeing how this frog over there-" -she jerked her elbow at the King- "-confirmed your suspicion, you should have decent reason to act. Yet you lack the resolve to draw the natural consequences. But what else is there? Forgiving him is out of the question and you know it. There's a part of you which hasn't yet been dulled by the world and is currently screaming at this displayed injustice, demanding bloody revenge for what has been done to your friend."

Not-Ann returned to the centre of the stage, facing away from Ann. If there had been an audience, she would have had every last bit of attention their brains were able to generate.

"But, alas, it appears you won't act on it." She raised both her arms to the sky. "Thus the curtain shall close on this tragedy of Ann Takamaki. Dear listeners, her real failure has been that she always knew what she wanted, what she needed but could never, not once, under no circumstances bring herself to reach for them."

"Yes, I can!" The words burst from Ann's lips, almost unwanted but nonetheless impossible to take back.

Her counterpart wouldn't have let her anyways.

"Prove it!", came the demand like a shot as the other whipped around to face her. A pair of yellow eyes gleamed when she approached. From thin air, Not-Ann pulled a slim, green twig crowned with a flurry of full red petals. She held the rose up in front of he.

"Let's say this is everything you ever wanted. Love, friends, beauty and complete dominance over your life. This is the ultimate goal you have set for yourself. Now grasp for it ", she stated-

-and jammed the thorny flower into Ann's hair, right above her left ear.

A cruel move. An unbelievably cruel move. With her tied, bloodless arms there was no way she could reach for the plant. Worse yet, the thorns stung like hornets did and for some reason that pain spread slowly through her entire body. Reflexively, she tried to grab it but found the shackles to be as firm as ever. It was impossible. A senseless struggle.

"My patience has limits, chica." Not-Ann turned away and marched towards the edge of the platform. "Don't reach with your arms. Reach with every muscle, every thought. Use everything you have for this cause. Otherwise you won't be free, even in death."

A cobweb of cutting, stinging strings spread throughout Ann's body. She fought. Fought the pain and the shackles. Fought while spasms caused her to drool. Fought despite the laughably impossible odds. Fought for Shiho and, for once, for herself.

It couldn't work.

It shouldn't work.

But it did regardless.

Iron shackles bend under the might of fleshy limbs. Bend-

-and broke.

She found herself standing upright, freed from the device with the guards lying numb at her feet. Time had resumed its natural flow and the others stared at her, thunderstruck. Everyone watched as she made to rip the rose from her hair. But the deceiving flower had disappeared and instead, her fingers grabbed hold of a newly planted mask covering her upper face. As it came off, it took skin, blood and all the lies she'd put on to keep Kamoshida at bay with it.

The resulting explosion hit the guards, the captain, the King and his fake princess, leaving Ann alone on the platform.

Blue sparks danced around her, bringing a heat that made her skin crawl. For the first time in months she breathed freely, feeling all the parts of her she had had to suppress while dealing with Kamoshida come flooding back to her. Her chest freed from the invisible cage of self-restriction, she sucked in fresh, full air and with it the feeling of being truly alive. She smiled.

"I see what you mean. Nothing good can ever come from holding back in any way. Can it, Carmen?"

She turned to the ten foot tall depiction of an absolutely gorgeous woman in a blazing red dress. The raven-haired beauty exuded enough appeal to bedazzle even a eunuch.

_You sure took your time figuring that out. But I suppose I shouldn't complain. Our contract is forged and shall stand, _her new bestie responded, markedly disinterested. She pulled a cigarette from somewhere suggestive and snapped her fingers. Her nails ignited the tobacco and she inhaled the smoke deeply.

"Enough with your insolence", thundered a voice. The guard captain pulled himself off the floor. His eyes glistened with hate. "Pay!"

_Do not fret. _Carmen looked down on the soldier, then at Ann. _I am thou, thou art I. My strength is yours. No one can withstand me and, by extension, you. _

"I know. I can feel it. Oy, scumbag!" She pointed a newly pink-gloved hand at the Saturday morning cartoon villain posing as an ill-clad version of a volleyball teacher. "See this? Turns out, the cheap girl you wanted to toy with has claws!"

The King spat. "Bitch!"

She flipped him the bird while smiling her brightest. Her eyes sparkled like flames of aqua-blue.

"You stole everything from Shiho. Destroyed her without a care in the world. Nothing will prevent me from doing the same to you. I'll rob you of everything you hold dear to your heart", she promised.

"Heaven's sake, shut her up!", he barked.

With an angry growl, his guard captain dropped his mask. His lavish golden armour gave way to a disgusting, burbling mess of black and red ooze. Disgusting it was and disgusting it stayed. The goo rearranged itself as a giant horned devil wannabe with furry black skin whose horns grazed the ceiling. He wouldn't have fit in the room had his buttocks not been glued to an equally oversized toilet floating a few inches above the ground. Maximum size for maximum ickiness.

"Selfish lass. A woman opposing King Kamoshida compares to-"

Smack!

With a bang rivalling the ferocity of a gunshot, a small dot of red leather hit the diablo right on the bridge of his running nose.

Neatly, Ann twirled the whip back up, careful not to strain her new weapon. She tilted her head to blink innocently up at her enemy.

"Hraaaaaaah!"

The monster charged her at full speed.

Thus he was unable to stop when she cart-wheeled to the side and an empty metallic device replaced her role as target. He hit the obstacle, an oh-so-satisfying groan of pain escaping his trap on impact. In her ears, it sounded truly operatic.

The intruders rushed forward to help her but a quick clack of her whip forbade them from climbing the platform.

_My stage, boys._

Nobody argued and the original trio engaged the two remaining guards in combat.

_Good. The absence of distractions increases the chances for a peak performance._

In one sweeping motion, she brandished her whip and sent it against the back of her opponents' head. The beast turned, the promise of a painful death eminent in its rolling orbs, only to have one of them blindsided by the bite of his foe's snaky weapon.

Ann danced. Not once did the whip fall slack or scar the ground. Overhead, over her shoulder, around her frame or to the sides, she let her partner run free and adjusted her steps to build momentum. Soon, the hits came in spades, pummelling the diarrhea victim in a merciless flurry of burning, shocking, skin-tearing strikes. She closed her eyes and felt how her body had no problem moving on its own. Her newly cleaned mind focused all its circuits on this subject. She let herself be drawn in, felt the rhythm, the tact, the steps. Her presence dominated the stage as her debut performance neared its grand finale.

_I'm reaching out for the change I always wanted to happen in my life. And I'm doing it for someone I hold dear. _

Her heart soared with passion upon scrutinizing such thoughts, even more so as she knew them to hold a grain of truth. Liquid magma poured through her veins, pure joy and determination. She would use this heat to burn down any obstacles in her way. So, when the devil charged her outright, desperate to turn the tables, she was awaiting him with Carmen on a hair trigger.

+Agi+

From Carmen's palm erupted an orb of literal, piping hot flames. Hissing, it shot towards her adversary, the impact creating a glorious explosion to light the stage. The unfortunate devil howled in pain as his fur caught fire. Through his panicked attempts to smother the little crimson anorganic insects gnawing at his skin, he threw Ann a glance. Hurt, but not broken.

Thus, she had Carmen dose him a second time.

It proved surprisingly fun to see her once fearsome foe stumble across the room, producing completely inhumane masses.

She stepped forward, decisive, triumphant, threatening. Her adversary heard the sound of her high heels on the marble with panic and wrapped his arms around himself.

She approached him, letting her heels herald incoming demise to her enemy.

A teary, fearful eye peeked at her from behind furry fingers.

She looked up and smiled.

The beast shrieked in horror.

A third ball of flame burned into its chest, demolishing the ribcage and anything beneath. The toilet somehow activated its mechanic and flushed the remains of the monster down into presumably a black hole, since it turned in on itself and faded from existence.

_A fitting end_, she had to admit. _Speaking of things that seriously need to go down the drain..._

Her glance searched for the King...and caught the last edge of his fashion crime of a cape disappearing into a secret passage.

"Sonuvabitch", was what she wanted to yell, only for her voice to fail her just like her knees. Cowering on the floor, she was clearly able to feel the adrenaline rush as well as her burning wish for revenge take a backseat, subsequently letting a world of exhaustion, fatigue and dizziness take over. Forced to hold her pace for the first time, she felt how Carmen had left her and a thousand aches restricted her new energy. She brought a hand to her forehead in the ancient yet fruitless attempt to quench a pain dwelling between her temples. The pink-gloved hand met a mask covering her face from forehead to nose. The mask had a whimsical condition, being of such light substance she almost couldn't feel it.

Then her gaze dropped down to her own figure. Somehow she'd gotten a change of clothes without noticing. Moreover, the designer who had picked her outfit probably had the worst fashion sense she'd ever witnessed.

A bright red latex suit clung to her frame like a second skin. Dark red boots reached from her toes up to her thighs. Her whip could be stowed on her hips, acting as a sort of tail. The getup was flashy and dazzling if worn right.

It also featured a cleavage cutout so deep, it was plain embarrassing.

Feeling heat wallow up in her cheeks in addition to her exhaustion, she curled up into a ball to cover herself and wished for Lady Fortune to whisk her away.

"Gimme your arm", said a familiar voice. Since it lacked its characteristic vulgar tone, it sounded a bit odd. "You take the other side, Joker."

"Hurrrrrryyyyy", urged a child. "They'll send a search party for us soon. We gotta scram."

* * *

"Let me help you."

Two boys and a cat stared at her.

"What? Kamoshida will just keep going if nobody stops. You want to do just that by stealing his heart. If I help you achieve it, I'll pay him back for Shiho _and _prevent him from harming anyone else in one fell swoop. It's perfect."

Sakamoto immediately objected. "Why the hell would we take you along?"

"Don't act like I would drag you down. Carmen and I can fight just as well as you guys."

"And we need more manpower anyways", added Morgana. The transformed human winked at her. "I say we take her up on the offer."

Ann had figured the 'boy' would support her what with the way he used a softer tone when talking to her already. Though it was nice to have an ally.

"I'll protect her", he vowed.

_That really isn't necessary._

With regard to Sakamoto's 'even-less-convinced-than-before'-face she felt the need to remind him of her relative independence from them: "You do realize I'll just go in alone if you say no, right ?"

"Meanin' it would be more dangerous for your health if we turned you down. 's that what you're gettin' at?"

"More or less."

"Nurrrrgggghhhh... fine."

Satisfied, she addressed the ever-reluctant Kurusu. "It's decided?"

A nod. _Gee, not so cheerful, guy._

"Then let's exchange contact info. Give me your number and chat ID and let me know when we're going in again. No skipping past me anymore, got it?"

That last one was for Sakamoto who responded with a wonderfully spiteful smirk. "Only to save you from certain doom."

"Ditto. Let's make that bastard atone for everything."


	11. First Things First

Chapter 11: First Things First

**April 15th, 20XX. Friday. Evening.**

"What a girl. Kind and caring yet compassionate and brave enough to cast herself into danger for the sake of those she holds dear", Morgana purred in a sombre, almost longing tone, resting his head dreamily on Akira's shoulder from behind, enjoying the sway of the bag he was being carried in. Their little group had dispelled an hour ago and for the entire way to Yongen-Jaya, the human in disguise hadn't found the strength to refrain from rambling about the picture of beauty, passion and nice smells that (to him) was Ann Takamaki.

All of a sudden his eyes snapped open. "Kurusu, I...I think I might be in love", he confessed, voice trembling with profound emotion.

_What a scoop. It raises some questions but still, what a scoop. _Akira repressed the sarcastic as well as the rude comment. Which of course was the wrong choice.

"You could say something, you know", grumbled his furry companion, keeping his mouth shut just long enough to make Akira question if he might be truly offended, only to the drop the subject altogether. "Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"What kind of host doesn't tell their guest what they're in for?"

"I'm only taking you because there's no other option."

"Precisely. Lady Ann's caretaker doesn't allow her to keep pets and there's no way in Alice' Wonderland I'm staying at Ryuji's, so you'll have to take me in if you don't want me to roam the streets as a stray cat and possibly die alone, frightened, freezing in the dark."

"We're here by the way. Hide in the bag and don't make a sound."

"Wait, no! I haven't properly seen your house-"

"Hide and don't make a sound lest you want my guardian to kick both of us out."

Zipping the bag shut above Morgana's protests, Akira grabbed Leblanc's door knob just a tad too hard. His fingers were sweaty. He hadn't been lying about how he expected Sakura-san to react if he were to find out about this stowaway. In his mind, the grumpy manager was capable of anything.

_Calm down. He's used to you being quiet by now. Just go in, say something -or, better yet, nothing- and go upstairs. Simple, _he relayed and pressed the door inwards-

-where it missed the nose of a leaving customer by a hair's breadth. Promptly he started uttering excuses but the woman just hand waved them. Her fingernails were of pitch black colour, jet-black, as black as her hair, her jacket, her wristbands, her bag, her ripped jeans and the metal-plated collar she wore around her neck. Her turquoise blouse and brown eyes posed the only exceptions from the rule.

"Happens", she said and went her way.

He threw Sakura-san a glance but the man merely chuckled.

"The doc is hard to faze. Don't worry", he said and went back to the brewing stands, giving him the time he needed to sneak past him and up the stairs, quietly.

"What kind of dumpster is this?", Morgana exclaimed as loud as cat-ly possible. Released from the confines of the bag he sat on the bed, waggling his tail at everything he disapproved of. Such as the entire attic and also the smell which Akira's own nose had grown too accustomed to notice.

The other huffed. "How unfortunate for you, having to live in such a-"

Morgana went silent and pressed his belly onto the sheets. From the railings of the stairs, a flabbergasted Sakura-san beheld the scene. "Thought I heard something like a meow. You brought a cat home?"

_This isn't my home,_ claimed Akira's mind.

"It followed me", claimed his mouth.

Strangely, the expected thunderstorm never occurred. Sakura-san inspected the feline closely for a few moments. Morgana peeked at him with full blue eyes, scrunching his nose every so often.

"Does it...does it have a name?"

Perplexed, Akira informed him.

"Oh, I see. 'Morgana' despite it being male? Ah, whatever. Do you intend on keeping it?"

"I don't know if it's allowed", Akira said, warily.

"Well, I don't know if it's forbidden", his guardian retorted. Hints of an unfamiliar sentiment began to dispel his carefully crafted grumpiness. "Judging by the barrage of meows, your little friend hasn't eaten anything in a while so don't pet him yet. Wait, I'll go fetch something real quick~"

With lively steps, which was a staggering pace for Sakura-san, he descended to the shop.

Slowly, very slowly, Morgana turned to him. Sapphires sparkled from a bed of raven fur while an adorable white snout formed the most smug grin he had ever seen. Not content with pulling off the expression better than anyone else, the honest-to-god-human didn't miss his chance to add insult to injury.

"Looks like he's more of a cat person than a scruffy-haired teen person, eh?"

"Likely. Do I have to buy some cat litter for you now?"

Morgana frowned. "No. Did I forget to mention that I'm not a cat?"

"Even humans have to follow the call of nature sometimes."

"Except for me."

"How does that work?"

"Simple: by working. Don't worry that fragile head of yours."

"If I find a puddle in here someday-"

"Here it comes." Suddenly, an excited Sakura-san manifested in the room, offering his newest guest a large plate of beans and tomato sauce on rice. "Geez, it just had to keep calling in that cute voice."

Morgana displayed a tiny pink tongue and eagerly began licking up the spicy dish while an equally eager coffeeshop owner began petting him.

Akira was free to witness the sight for a moment up until his phone chimed. Part of him expected to find the MetaNav icon blink at him again, simply because 'Screw you, Kurusu' had become something of a running theme in his life as of late. But no, it turned out to be a text from Ann.

**Ann: **Hey, I never properly thanked you for your help in the castle. Without you I'm pretty sure I would have been screwed.

He felt more flattered than what a simple 'Thank you' from a stranger should have made him feel, but if he was being completely honest, Ryuji had been the one hellbent on saving her after learning of her capture from eavesdropping on guards. If Ann should be thanking someone, it would be him. He typed his response with stiff fingers, while remembering that he had only known Ryuji for three days too. Shouldn't he be more cautious around these people?

**Ann: **I already did. He gave you the credit.

**Ann: **Oh, and also we're gonna meet up on the rooftop tomorrow to 'discuss strategy 'n stuff'(His words).

**Ann: **So, in that sense: see you tomorrow. Let's make Kamoshida pay.

A cough from Sakura-san drew his attention. The manager had finally pried himself off of Morgana. "I expect you to clean the plate once this little one is done eating, understand?"

With a nod as his response and a last fond look to the feline, Sakura-san left.

"Text?", Morgana asked in between two bites.

"Mh-hm."

"Who?"

"Takamaki-san."

"Lemmeseelemmseelemmesee!"

"She says 'thank you' and we're meeting up tomorrow."

* * *

**April 16th,20XX. Saturday. After school.**

"So for this first Phantom Thieves meetin'-"

"Why are we holding it up here anyway? The rooftop has been off limits since before you and I started attending here."

"Yeah, but no teacher ever bothers to come and look to it. Even Kamoshida never sets foot here. It's the perfect spot-" Ryuji lowered his voice- "to discuss his downfall in secret."

"If so, whispering is pretty obsolete, no?"

"About as obsolete as your constant naggin', yeah."

Ann rolled her eyes. "Silly me, being curios."

"Be curious about this: we need to improve our arsenal."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Guns."

"Sakamoto, we can't-"

"Don't worry, Lady Ann, he isn't talking about _real_ guns. We found out that realistic-looking plastic models of guns work in the Metaverse as if they were real."

"They do? How?"

"Kurusu tested it."

"You did?"

He nodded curtly.

"And I know a place that sells tons of models without askin' any questions. Let's go there tomorrow right away."

"No way. I have to go and visit Shiho. You boys will have to make that trip without me."

"Regrettable ", sighed Morgana, stretching on a discarded table. "But in addition, we'll have to improve on clinical items as well. Any damage your Personas -your manifested mental facade, remember- takes by fighting shadows in the Metaverse will weaken your mental state and ability to focus. Consequently, any medication calming the nerves has a restoring effect _over there _too."

"Hey, nice. We'll totally be needin' some of that." Ryuji scowled. "Where to get it though? For all four of us, that's a lot of painkillers to buy without raising suspicion."

Morgana winked at Akira. "I think we might know a place."

* * *

_There's no way this will work. _

I took all of his discipline to stay still and composed on his stool while the doctor from yesterday checked his vitals on a computer. She wore a professional white lab coat, almost making him drop his theory about black being her favourite colour. Her enormous pitch-black stilettos and the black nail polish on her visible toes convinced him otherwise once more.

He snuck a nervous glance over her shoulder. The old-fashioned monitor in front of her showed statistics and graphs his wits weren't nearly developed enough to comprehend. What did they tell her about him? And why did it take so long?

"A chronic disease, was it?", she asked for reconfirmation.

He nodded. The excuse he and Morgana had agreed upon to tell her. Something harmless, easy to fake. But still, with his acting skills, he _felt_ that she would see through his pitiful charade.

"And you expressed a need for pain relievers up to painkillers, correct?"

He held his breath. "Yes?"

"Then you shall have them."

"Really? " _So this is what being 'flabbergasted' feels like?_

"Sure. An entire lifetime's supply of the little buggers with some crack and Hyper-Blitz 3 thrown in for flavour." The raven-haired lady owned her sarcastic eyeroll. "Just to be clear, I _know _you're not sick and just faking it -at which you're doing a piss-poor job by the way- but you're not the first of my patients to do so. These are the back alleys. Every rat strolling into my clinic has an ulterior motive. Would be weird if they didn't. That's fine, I don't care. What counts, is that you want painkillers and are willing to pay for them. Wonderful, you won't hear me complaining. However, if _you _choose to swallow them, it's not me endangering your health. Taking care of your body is _your_ job before anyone else's, including doctors."

"A moral grey area", spouted Akira's mouth before he had the chance to bite his tongue.

"Indeed. Grey enough to raise the prizes on medicine illegally sold to sanctimonious nosy kids and not sleeping worse for it if necessary", she retorted without flinching for a second. "Now are you buying something or not?"

He did. Medicine in hand, he tried to leave the tiny room stock-full of medical equipment without bumping into anything. Under the door, he ran into one angry bundle of a man so eager to enter the examination room he let the incident slide, his wrath reserved exclusively on the doctor.

"Tae Takemi! Your license to create medical treatments on your own shouldn't be used to brew borderline illegal drugs! What are you trying to create, a 'super-stimulant'? Don't drag my name through the mud again! "

He shoved Akira out the clinic. "Leave us!"

Behind a closed door, the yelling continued.

Morgana perked up at him from the bag. His snout formed 'super-stimulant?' and his eyes gleamed mischievously.

* * *

**April 17th, 20XX. Sunday. Daytime.**

The weakly, cool breeze of a cooling system running on its last leg joined with the smell of plastic and artificial leather. Lost in despair, he kneeled down between two rows of shelves sporting a number of impressively detailed plastic gun models. 'Untouchable', as was the name of the air soft shop Ryuji had discovered hidden away in a small alley diverging from Shibuya Central Street. It was small, fairly unassuming and sported an air of secrecy he welcomed. More importantly however, it featured a very large collection of kevlar vests, L.A.R.P. hats, reproduced military equipment and much more. More than half of the shop was dedicated to not only guns, but an astounding variety of melee weapons, most of which hung from the ceiling behind the counter.

That was roughly were Akira's problems started.

For one, Ryuji had asked him to pick a gun in his stead and also one for Takamaki-san. A huge responsibility all on its own. His knees buckled at the thought of disappointing his companions (as he had come to call them after cautious evaluation) or pick a blunder that might fail them somehow and get them injured or worse. After a long period of musing, he settled on two very different models, mostly to shut down Morgana's meowed complaints about how he was taking absolutely ages.

Now on to problem number two.

The manager peaked somewhat surly over the top of his newspaper when Akira laid the missile weapons on the counter. The man in his late forties wearing a grey cap on his equally grey short hair, took the toothpick he munched on from his mouth.

"That's quite the unusual combo. What are you up to? A bank robbing?"

"Wha- No!", Ryuji protested, taking the spot next to Akira.

The guy straight ignored him. "Two of the most realistic looking at that. If you were enthusiasts, you should have said so before."

A salamander-shaped tattoo crawled up and down his neck when he finally took his feet of the counter.

"Aight, safety goes first: keep them in a bag if you're outside, don't go 'round pointing 'em at people and don't let the fuzz catch you with 'em. I don't need those coming around here. Basically, don't be stupid. That includes paying 5.720 Yen for these like a good customer. And feel free to come again if you have the guts for it."

* * *

**Evening. **

"Hey, you're not done ", Morgana helpfully let him know. "Go de-clutter that workbench of yours."

Akira gave him a blank stare.

"Hurry up, I want to show you how to craft lockpicks."

"..."

"You're gonna need them."

"..."

"So go to work already."

"..."

"Please?"

"Hum."

"Seriously? That's what you were waiting for?" The Not-Cat scowled in disdain as his 'owner' began to lift the heavy stacks of books off the overburdened table. "Tsk."

"This here, that there. If it goes 'Click', fine; if it goes 'Clack', swine."

Clack.

Morgana permitted himself a lenient grin. "Aww, don't worry, it's your first try and all that. You'll be making more of these in the time to come. For now, disassemble it and try to put it together in the correct way."

"..."

"See? You did it." Morgana enthusiastically eyed the finished tool. His tail whipped in excitement. "Oh, the treasures we're going to get with this."

All of a sudden, he looked directly at Akira. "Listen. If you, Ryuji and Lady Ann are adamant about stealing Kamoshida's heart, I too will support you in any way I can. I'll teach you everything about infiltration, battles and how to craft new useful tools once you've become a little more proficient."

Eyes of sparkling determination pledged a silent vow to Akira.

"I'll do what I can to make you guys the best Phantom Thieves the world has ever seen." He extended a small white paw to his fellow thief. "Looking forward to working with you, Joker."

Softly, Akira took the paw between his thumb and index finger.

"Likewise, Mona."

* * *

**April 18th, 20XX. Monday. After School.**

"All right, gather round people." Morgana began the second meeting on the rooftop by laying down the basics of their situation. "Kamoshida plans to have both Ryuji and Kurusu expelled at the next board meeting, an event we must prevent from happening at all costs. So, is everyone ready to properly begin infiltrating his Palace?"

He didn't need to ask twice.

"You bet your tail I am. I ran into him at the School gate this mornin'. Dude stood there all smug, hands on his hips and grinnin' at me as if throwing me a challenge. Made me think 'Okay mister, you deserve everything that's comin' to ya'."

"My visit to the hospital yesterday revealed that Shiho's condition is stable. So while not killing her, he still inflicted considerable emotional trauma on her. So, I still feel like retaliating, yes ", Takamaki-san assured.

"Everyone's resolve is steeled, I see. That's good so far. The board meeting is on May 2nd, correct? That'll be our deadline for this mission. We'll have to take his heart before that day arrives."

"Yeah, 'bout that..." Ryuji assumed his 'Thinking'-expression. "Could you explain the exact procedure to us? Like, we won't have to actually, uh...y'know...cut some arteries and then take-"

Morgana's serious facade cracked as a chuckle escaped his whiskers. "No, that won't be necessary. The literal figurative heart or 'Treasure' of a Palace's ruler is a physical manifestation of their distorted desires. As the core on which the Palace is built, it'll probably be hidden away in the deepest, safest, most well-guarded part of the structure. Although admittedly, I cannot predict what form it might take."

"But the gist of it is: Find the Treasure, grab that sucker and scram", Ryuji simplified.

"Affirmative", Morgana gave the troublemaker half of an approving nod. "Our objective today is to find out where the Treasure is located."

The Not-Cat eyed every last one of them. "Are you ready?"

Ryuji and Takamaki-san joined Akira's silent nod.

"Then let's head down to the usual place and let the Metaverse Navigator do its thing."

* * *

The world contorted. A school transformed into a castle. A cat turned into a Morgana. And three school uniforms changed into three flashy, distinct outfits, one of them being a particular standout.

"Daaaaamn..." Ryuji fidgeted around, trying to find the best angle at which to take in the view of a certain crimson red spandex cat suit. Slight awe became apparent in his eyes the longer he looked.

Takamaki-san huffed, crossing her arms above the cleavage cut-out on her chest.

"Err, I'm tryin' to come up with a codename for you based on your costume, I swear!"

"You use codenames?"

"Indeed", Morgana piped in. "To conceal our identity, we change our names as well as our appearances. Kurusu is 'Joker', a name I came up with myself, I'm 'Mona' and he's 'Skull'. As for you, how about... 'Cat Girl?'" Naturally he couldn't keep his tail from waggling hopefully.

Ann shook her head. "If it's going to be a stable for the rest of our working together, I want to be called something more mature. Something passionate and...ferocious. What good is a sweet little kitten in the face of danger?" Pensive, she tipped the pointy cat-like ears emitting from her mask. "How about...Panther?"

"If ya like it", was Skull's sole comment.

Mona meanwhile had another think coming: "Lady Ann! Lady Ann! Wouldn't you rather be called cou-"

"I'm Panther! Let's GO!", she cut him off, turned on the spot and strode towards the castle. The two others went after her, just as Akira's vision blurred. Suddenly, a little girl in a blue uniform pulled his sleeve.

"My master wishes to have a word with you", she let him know, gesturing towards an annoyingly familiar door with iron bars leading to a realm of velvet blue.

* * *

"As you have now witnessed, your talent to hold multiple Personas, the potential of the wild card, and my ability to fuse them to create new Personas coalite quite nicely", Igor's growling pointed out as Caroline and Justine handed him a newly born Persona. The mask laid itself on his features by itself. In all honesty, he did not understand what exactly just happened but he knew from experience that he wasn't going to get any answers even if he were to ask for them. Rather, the prison master seemed perfectly content with rattling off the sermon of whatever topic he wanted to disclose this time, then let his inmate return to the real world. At first, Akira had tried to inquire about the double-sensed riddles or blatantly nonsensical statements the long-nosed man threw at him in endless supply, but had since come to the realization that all of his questions would be swiped aside with a 'you'll-understand-soon-enough'-excuse and that his short comments during their 'conversations' had little, if any effect. Seeing how he'd come to the Velvet Room half a dozen times already, he decided to remain silent and let Igor have the monologue he so desperately wanted.

"However, there is yet a way to gain even more power. For you see, Personas are of a certain type, an 'arcana', each corresponding to a bond you will be able to forge with an individual in your world walking the path of the corresponding Arcana. If you manage to gain their trust they'll become your allies, your 'Confidants' as we call them."

Trust. A scarce resource these days.

"Strengthening your bonds with these individuals will allow you to create even more powerful Personas and acquire rare skills or benefits in battle. Such as has happened between the two of us right now since you heeded my call to become a thief of hearts."

Small pressure made itself known between Akira's temples. It wasn't a headache, instead more like a pull, as if some deeper part of his brain were pushed to the forefront.

Igor grinned like he always did. "The 'Third Eye'. The ability to sharpen your sixth sense at will and reveal what is usually hidden from your perception. Use it however you see fit. Farewell. Until our next reunion."

The head warden pressed a button on his desk and the eardrum-obliterating sound of a tortured bell snapped Akira from the room and back to the Metaverse.

"Yo-ho? Earth to Joker?" Skull waved his hand before his eyes. "Are you with us again? You just stood there gazin' at nothing for a while."

"Yeah. I was just... thinking."

" 'Bout what?"

He held up the paper bag he had smuggled into school today. "Guns, man."

* * *

"Dude, this is so sweet~", Skull exclaimed a little louder than necessary. His yellow gloved hands caressed every inch of the plastic shotgun braided on his lap. "It's blunt and loud and packs a punch! And the way that shadow keeled over when I hit him with it? Glorious~"

He continued to ramble, prompting Mona to groan. "We know, numb-Skull. You've told us a hundred and twenty times in as many seconds since that incident. Moreover, I wished we could have avoided fighting before we reached the first Safe Room."

Far too preoccupied with his business on cloud nine, Skull overheard the ridicule of his nickname. "Aw, c'mon. Thanks to Joker, we got the drop on 'em and the fight went flawlessly. They didn't get one hit in."

Morgana's stubby foot stomped the table he stood on. "Not good enough! Don't take the Shadows lightly. You're fighting against the power of dozens of persons' true personality drawn to the Palace's distortion. Their outward appearance gives testimony to the Palace ruler's complete control over them, who is just someone's Shadow himself, albeit a very powerful one."

Skull rolled his eyes but Joker spurred the instructor on. He was curious and hoped Mona would deliver more answers than a certain other seeming Metaverse expert. "Why do they look like demons or mythical creatures?"

"Those are their actual forms. They remove their masks to reveal themselves as they are: Products of the human mind heavily influenced by how humans perceive certain traits. Mostly negative ones."

"We fought an Incubus back there..."

"Precisely, Joker. Lust. Probably from a male."

"The Pixie?"

"An overabundance of idolism."

"The jack lanterns?"

"A hidden love for taking risks."

"Whatever they are, I'm glad this thing can deal with 'em." Skull smooched the frame of his new best bud. "Just stick it in their face and 'boom', there goes said face."

Thankfully, his mask hid the relief washing over Akira's face upon hearing that his pick had hit the mark.

_Make that one out of two, _he corrected himself seeing how Panther eyed her own firearm with much less enthusiasm.

"I do like it", she thought out loud. "But I get the feeling I'm not using it right."

Skull snickered. "That's because you have this fixed idea of firing single shots. Have you never wielded a machine gun like this before?"

"..."

"Stupid question?"

"Kinda", she sighed. "I'll try to...fire a salvo next time. How's our progress?"

"Err, according to the rudimentary map in my head, we're only at the very beginning. You might feel fit now rookies, but buckle up. This is gonna be a long day."

The three turned to him. "Ready when you are, Joker."

* * *

"Who the HELL installs a guard on top of a frickin' CHANDELIER?!"

Fuming like a volcano, Skull kicked open the door to another Safe Room. His costume torn and burnt from the unpleasant first experience of being ambushed themselves for a change. Joker followed with Panther and Mona, all of them in similar shape. The Not-Cat was ablaze as well.

"I told you to be careful! Contrary to what outsiders believe, it's actually the first part of an infiltration, the venture into the unknown, where you have to proceed with utmost caution! You _need _to be careful!"

Groaning, Panther massaged her clearly aching forehead. "Could the two of you yell a little louder, please? My headaches aren't quite killing me yet."

The sight of his team's motivation turning into aggression at a moment's notice unsettled Akira more than he cared to admit. He was their leader, at least temporarily but in a situation such as this, it became very clear to him that they were still teenagers in way over their head. He could only push the obvious next step and hope that it would suffice.

"Let's heal up", Joker suggested and did what Akira could never do: holding his companions gazes firmly, reassuring them despite his own complete lack of reassurance. Astoundingly, the trio obliged. Panther and Mona each used a healing spell on themselves, their Personas popping up to rain green sparks of vitality and vigour on their wielders. A skill named 'Dia' which Joker would love to possess himself. Skull took a sip of medicine, giving it back to Joker with a thankful nod.

The tension left along with the headaches. As Akira regarded three faces hinting at embarrassment and slight guilt. His only thoughts: _Thank goodness they're not arguing anymore._

Joker sat down his own bottle of medicine.

_Now to be more careful._

Ultimately, the incident worked in their favour. Everyone saw how stealth was their best option and he gave his all to bring them as far as he could, avoiding combat were possible. And if a fight appeared inevitable, he snuck up on singular targets only and ambushed them to at least give his group the advantage. This way, they managed to insert quite insert and eventually, the alarm died down. As the castle quiet down once more, the Phantom Thieves felt like things were going smoothly.

Until they found the chapel.

The illustrious hall they entered had made its presence known by resonating with Joker's sixth sense long before they arrived there, to the point where he didn't need to actively use third eye anymore. The others felt it too. A distant pressure on their minds, telling of the overly powerful influence governing the very air of this area. The few ripples in the Metaverse occasionally revealed the real life counterpart of this room:

"It's the gym", Skull said, his voice barely above a whisper. The location dimmed even his boundless spirit. "He's the main PE-teacher at Shujin, this is his home turf. No one has ever opposed him in here." He swallowed hard. "Not even me."

"Meaning this place holds a special meaning for him", Mona whispered back. Their feline companion evidently tried to hide his tensing up but his efforts were somewhat undermined by every hair on his body standing on edge. "In here, surrounded by underlings, doing what he does best, praised by devotees the King probably thinks himself akin to a god."

It would certainly explain why the environment looked a lot more like a gothic cathedral than a castle. It was divided into three parallel sections, the biggest of which held multiple rows of benches facing a giant full-body Kamoshida-statue crafted from finest illusory marble. Big, multi-coloured glass windows allowed rays of sunlight to gush into the chapel, trailing the outlines of the sculpture's muscular arms stretched wide in a welcoming, beckoning gesture with the trademark condescending, self-satisfactory grin plastered across its face.

A golden knight at its feet his unblinking bloody red eyes fixed on the group.

Reflexively, Skull and Mona took cover behind one of the pillars surrounding the aisle.

"Fruitless", determined Panther. "He's already seen us. My guess is he's just not attacking because he wants to see what we're gonna do: retreat or meet his challenge."

Her eyes met Joker's.

"Are we ready for this?"

He checked their equipment: they had enough medicine, ammunition and items to take down at least a dozen shadows. All party members were fairly invigorated and they had barely used their Personas in the few previous battles.

"We are ready", he concluded. An unexpected smirk snuck its way onto his lips. "Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?"

With that he strode the middle aisle in plain view of the guard captain and the others joined him.

Their target remained silent, exhibiting an entirely different aura than the other captains they'd faced: calm and determined. Only once they had reached the elevated circle did he speak:

"Trespassers."

His mask fell. Wings sprouted from previously broad, now humongous shoulders as the knight tripled his size. His sword matched the transformation.

The heavenly being left the ground, each stretch of its wings enriched the air with vibrations.

"Repent!"

* * *

**Evening.**

Exhausted beyond belief, Akira fell flat onto his bed, refusing to move another muscle.

They'd done it. After fifteen minutes of intense mortal combat, they had taken down their most powerful foe yet. However: all four of them had been forced to use their Personas to an unprecedented degree and end exploration soon thereafter. Only thanks to Ryuji's Lightning Skill did they emerge victorious since it could even stun-lock the winged giant.

_I'll have to fuse a Persona with Lightning elementary, just in case we meet another angel, _he mused as sweet sleep pressed down on his eyelids. _Fusion, huh?_

* * *

**April 19th, 20XX. Tuesday. After School.**

Upon leaving his classroom, Akira saw Ryuji waving at him from a corner near the stairs.

"Yo, er, listen. I'd hate to be a buzzkill but could we not go to 'that' place today?"

Akira looked at the blonde and saw a mirror image of himself: a scrutinized look, bags under tired eyes, hair even messier than normal. He had actually been wanting to suggest the same.

"No sweat", whispered Morgana, his head thoughtfully concealed in Akira's bag. "According to the map we found in the King's hidden lair we're already halfway through the Palace. A phenomenal achievement! You can take some down time."

Ryuji didn't bother to hide his relief. "Phew. Thanks. In that case, how 'bout we do a little runnin' together? I'll show you my favourite training spot from way back when."

Truly, Akira did not consider himself a great runner which made the ease with which he beat the former track star all the more surprising.

The huffing blonde dealt admirably with his frustration. "Name of the game isn't 'winning', it's 'improvement'. I'll get you next time. High Five!"

His hand still burned from the overexcited slap the other gave him when his vision jumped like it had done when Igor announced a deepening of their bond.

Delving into the realm between mind and matter, he was able to follow the blue spectral figure of Ryuji Sakamoto until he left the courtyard.

* * *

**April 20th, 20XX. Wednesday. Early Morning.**

_Informative. _

He closed his reading matter, a tourist guide to Shibuya called the 'Yoncha-Wanderer', a magazine he'd found beneath the piles of junk he'd finally come around to dispose out of his room yesterday.

"On the topic of scholarly subjects", whispered his bag, "so far; you've failed every single question any teacher at Shujin has asked. I know they pick you at random with the weirdest questions but don't you want to surprise them by knowing the answer sometimes?"

Admittedly, Morgana had a point there. And the torrential rain today gave Akira an idea.

"Excuse me, dear customer, but you have been occupying this table for an hour while ordering nothing but a single cup of tea and-"

He slid his empty mug towards the waitress. "I'll gladly take another one", he said, keeping his eyes on his study papers.

Without a word, she took the mug and retreated, sans the usual service politeness.

"Hohohoho, you've got some nerve", muttered a certain bag-restrained ball of fur next to him on the bench of their booth.

Akira complied with a nod and tried to wipe a bit of sweet from his forehead as discretely as possible.

**Evening.**

"So, are you causing any problems?"

Sakura-san posed the question with arms crossed in front of his chest, inquisitorial glance aimed at the teen.

"I'm not", he replied. _I'm trying to prevent someone else from causing some for me and some others._

Sakura-san waggled his finger at him. "Good to hear. Think you can keep it that way? I have to report to your probation officer twice a month and instantly if problems arise, so- Hang on, I have to answer that."

The manager turned to his phone. Akira snuck at glance at his own pocket-PC: 19:08. Maybe there was only one caller, seeing how 'she' always seemed to call the same time every day Sakura-san stayed at the Café past closing time.

"Yes, the usual. I'll head right over." Sakura-san ended the call and continued as if nothing had happened. "As you can see, I'm busy at work in my private life so I could use a hand. Your hand. If you help me out at the shop, I'll teach you how to make the perfect cup of coffee one day. What do you say?"

Faced with such an irresistible offer, Akira agreed with boundless enthusiasm. "Sounds interesting."

"We got ourselves deal, then. Thank you, I... _appreciate _that." Sakura-san hurled and left. A weak shade of blue highlighted him in Akira's unintentionally activated Third Eye-vision. A disembodied voice whispered of vows and rebellion but her tone faltered, making her words and the sense they held impossible to decipher.

* * *

**April 21st, 20XX. Thursday. After School.**

Never had Akira Kurusu resented his recent inability to look someone in the eye more than now as Doctor Takemi stared him down in her examination room, leaning leisurely against the locked door with her body language screaming 'You're not getting out of here unless you play along'.

_I was careless._

The team had used most of their medicinal resources in their fight against Kamoshida's third Captain, thus they needed to restock. And if that hadn't been suspicious enough, he had also slipped his tongue a bit by specifically asking for a more 'potent' medicine, something 'brand-new' and 'unique' to her clinic. Now his skin formed goosebumps under her stern stare and all he could do was pray that the stool he sat on wouldn't start shaking from his trembles.

"Five days ago you bought enough medicine to give an elephant a seizure yet you're already back and asking for _more_? More 'potent' stuff even? What exactly does a high schooler need so much joe for?"

The doc's usual laissez-faire attitude had faded the instant he'd mentioned her 'original medicine'. This conversation was treading on thin ice.

"For exams ", he provided the closest-to-believable reason.

A good amount of tension left the person opposite and her voice gained a hint of a mothering tone. "Exams always seem like the end of the world but there are other ways to master them. Even relying on energy drinks would be a better solution than asking for a shady treatment from a back-alley doctor. So why don't you scurry along and-"

"I need this medicine", he stated firmly. Morgana had urged him to take an earnest shot at this, after all.

"Sure you do. But even disregarding the massive 'If I gave you'-hanging in the air here, you could never afford such expensive goods."

"I would work for it."

"Hah. This clinic isn't even big enough to fit me and a part-time help. What I need is...", she broke up, eyeing him from head to toe.

"Give me a second."

He watched her rummaging around on the overburdened desk and eventually producing a small glass filled with a reddish-brown liquid.

"Drink this", she demanded. "Otherwise it's goodbye 'special medicine'."

Akira knew himself well enough to know he would never do something as irrational and potentially dangerous as this if he allowed himself to dwell on it too much.

_Alors._

Setting the emptied glass aside, he was able to see the doctor finally lose her indifference to the element of surprise.

"You...Why? Why are you so determined-"

Her gasps failed to reach him as all his senses gave up their functions at the same time he fell from the stool.

"Fainting due to surstroming", murmured the doc when Akira came to. He felt as though someone had pushed his innards through a meat grinder. The mad scientist couldn't care less about his silly little ouchies. She petted her computer as if it were a child in a cradle.

"This is some wonderful data. Teenage test subjects really are something else."

_Teenage test subject? _

"I do not recall signing up for this."

"Oh, don't worry. You can still do that."

_What the-?_

"Listen, I'll put it bluntly: You want the medicine, I want data. How about a 'trade'? I'll sell you your desired items at any time for a good prize and in return you'll be my loyal, secretive, willing guinea pig?"

What little part of his brain had already returned from coma urged Akira to agree.

"Splendid. I've packed you a bag of the usual stuff as apologies for the surprise and unlocked the door. You can go now. Take care", she said mechanically, thoughts buried deep in the confines of her newly gained data.

The multitude of colours still dancing before his eyes were drowned by blue sparks and more whispers:

_Death... blessing... power..._

He took the bag and stumbled out the clinic, sucking in the fresh air outside when he left.

His moment of rest was to be a short one.

Morgana popped his head from the school bag. "All right. Now that that's done, go and buy some junk from that second-hand store near Leblanc. We need it to make more lockpicks."

_Sometimes I get the feeling Ryuji might have a point about you._

* * *

**Infiltration Log, Entry #2**

**April 22nd, 20XX. Friday. After School.**

-Infiltrated the central tower

-Found a Safe Room

-Stopped the scythes

-Infiltrated the Throne Room

-Found the next Safe Room

"Done." Joker reported, showing the booklet to Mona.

The Not-Cat smiled at his handiwork. "Good. We should always write our progress in the Palace down in here to keep us updated and gain a vague impression of how far we've come."

"Is that necessary? We've reached the highest level of this damn tower. The Throne Room is just a few steps away. Let's go there and grab the thing."

Mona commented on Skull's optimism with a huff. "We're not there yet. You'll see. Joker, if you'll lead the way, we'll follow."

Panther gripped the holster of the firearm she'd grown to appreciate in the meantime a bit tighter. Her narrowed eyes kept searching the new Safe Room restlessly. "Please do. Quickly."

"Hm? What's gotten into you?", Skull wondered.

"The real world counterpart of this room...I'm pretty sure we're standing in the Student Council Office right now."

"Oh."

The sudden shift in mood escaped Joker's comprehension. "Is that a problem?", he asked Skull.

The blonde scratched his neck, his optimism broken by an all too serious expression. "Dunno. No one can really tell what's goin' on there. So, I'd rather go against an evil pervert whom I know I can blast to hell if need be, all right?"

"How in the world have you not found them yet?!"

A solid metal door engraved with the finest golden ornaments yet, closed behind the quartet to spare them from further hearing how the King sitting on his Throne tore his incompetent subordinates a new one.

Once safely inside, Mona gave a content snort. "If he knew we just snuck past him and are only one room away. Ah, these are the moments a thief's chest swells with pride and-"

"Holy hell, look at all this stuff!"

While a bit unprofessional, Skull's exclamation was pretty accurate for the picture laid bare in front of them: a huge room filled to the brim with golden coins of all shapes and sizes, artifacts crafted by masters, hills of delicate accessories worth a lifetime's salary.

One thing drew the eye even more than all the other ridiculously valuable treasures though.

"What is that?" Panther cocked her head to the side. "It's floating and pulsating?"

Mona viewed the glittering orb of light adorned by rainbows, promising all the world's beauties. His eyes gained an adoring note.

"It's the part of Kamoshida's psyche where his distorted desires originate. The root of all evil. With this, we have successfully concluded the infiltration, located the Treasure and secured a route to it. Now all that's left is to make them materialize by sending the ruler a calling card. "He examined the group briefly. "Not today though. Nor tomorrow. All of you should rest up for a while, now that we have some time. Especially after that last enemy. Yuck. Our next step takes caution and patience anyways. Let's meet up on Sunday and I'll fill you in."

* * *

**April 23rd, 20XX. Saturday. After School.**

"I don't know what I was expecting."

Inui-sensei's stifled sigh still rang in his ears when Akira made his way to the third floor.

"Have you considered studying a bit more?"

The murmurs arising between his supposed classmates after he failed to guess the right answer to the teacher's question could be perfectly swapped out for the words leaving the hand-covered mouths of the students who saw him walk the corridors, since their words were the exact same and not particularly flattering. However, he successfully kept his composure until he was able to put a sliding door between him and them.

Quiet.

The smell of books enriched the air, prominent without being an annoyance.

And no whispers.

For once, he allowed himself a moment of respite.

_Haaaaaah._

"Excuse me? Could you come here for a second?"

Turning on the spot, he saw a female student waving at him from the other end of the library.

"Hello. I haven't seen you here before. Is this your first visit to the school's library?", she asked once he had come into conversation range. As soon as he confirmed her hunch, she cheerily went on: "Wonderful. Then let me lay down the basics for you since I'm the current librarian. In case you want to rent a book in the future, may I have your student ID to register it? Thank you, here we...go...?"

A single look turned the tables. Her eyes widened, lips forming a silent 'Kurusu?' as the smile vanished from her face.

"You're... you're that transfer student?", her voice fell but nonetheless didn't fail to reach precisely everyone in the room.

He nodded. A tiny, lamentably familiar knot formed in his gut.

_Here we go indeed. With the whispers, that is._

The librarian cleared her throat. "Oh, um...I was gonna say...if you rent a book please make sure to return it undamaged, you hear? Otherwise we, the staff, get blamed for it. And...er...uh...have a nice day."

Akira let her finish out of mere politeness and received his card back. He caught a glimpse of most other students present gawking at him and hurriedly retreating to their study papers when he turned around. Ignoring them, he tried to simply find a spot to study in which was easier said than done since the library happened to be absolutely packed. With one exception. The round five-man table closest to the desk the research sat on had only one occupant, a female student with her back to him. Akira decided against this table since it stood right in the middle of the library and would thus invite everyone to stare at him. Instead he searched for and found a free single-person-booth near the windows on the opposite side.

Sadly, his new fairly well-hidden location didn't provide protection against the whispers.

_And it will probably stay that way_, he predicted, peeking over the top of his booth to assess the situation one final time.

The table from before caught his eye, not because the number of members had changed but simply because the sole occupant was buried in books. Literally. What Akira had previously perceived as a gag reserved for comics and manga had become reality. Books above books stood stacked in front of the student, creating a tower of literature higher than her own head. He couldn't even see her face. Only her diligently working hands and occasionally a strand of brown hair were visible.

"Hey, do you see him? He's over there."

"Is that guy even allowed in here?"

"_If _he is, he really _shouldn't_ be."

He slumped back into his chair.

"Ignore them", Morgana whispered, blue eyes scrunched in worry. "Just focus on studying. You really need it."

He tried. For half an hour he tried to ignore the buzzing background noises. However, uneasiness started to settle in when he noticed how they just kept going.

_How can people be so relentless in their gossip?_

Never before had it been this bad. Never had he felt the negative effects of his criminal record to such an excruciating degree. Even his resolve to push back, to not let himself be drowned by unknowing communities any more, took a backseat as his mind indulged in that weakness, that delusional relief known as self-pity.

Why? Why was this happening to _him_? What had he actually done to deserve this?

With an eager creak, one of the library doors got ripped open. The student who entered threw a hasty glance at the rest of the room and quickly hauled a huge paper bag on the counter.

"I'd like to return these, please", he said in a hurried whisper which echoed nonetheless in the quiet study room.

The librarian looked into the bag and promptly made the same mistake: "These are-"

"I know, but...could you overlook it? Just this once? For old times' sake, perhaps?"

Tension rose. By now, Akira was far from being the only one observing the goings on at the counter, although he couldn't grasp what had sparked the others' interest.

"We can't do that." Uneasiness became apparent in the librarian's voice.

The male third-year blinked a couple of times, apparently having expected a different answer.

"What? Why not? Listen, this is a special case, ok? I have had...circumstances on my end. And I promise this will be the only time you'll have to make an exception for me."

"We...er, no I really can't..."

"Please? ...please?"

In a single, fluid motion, the girl on the round table capped her writing tool, put it aside, turned on her chair and stood up. Two well-measured steps took her right behind the boy.

"We can't do that."

She spoke in a low voice rather than a hissed whisper. A tone this even-tempered and words this simple albeit matter-of-fact should not cause a seventeen-year-old to jump back in fear. Yet the third-year did, features out of control thanks to the horror, his lips forming a word Akira didn't quite catch: Pre...Pretzel?

"Bending the rules for one person only once would make them entirely obsolete in the long run."

She stood with her back turned to the rest of library therefore he merely saw how she had her arms crossed in front of her and held her panicked counterpart firmly in her gaze.

"If these books are overdue, you'll pay the fee and inform the corresponding teacher, like the regulations demand."

Despite her civil volume, the scene had attracted the attention of every single student in the room.

Visibly afraid to see the worst-case-scenario come true, the would-be walk-out gave a plea, the prelude that would surely turn into an urgent and sensational pleading of his case:

"You don't understand, my parents will kill me-"

The girl raised a single chastising finger.

The entire library ducked back into their seats.

Her words overruled the intrusive sound of bated breaths.

"Nobody forced you to break the rules. You did it by yourself, on your own accord."

Cue the famous last stand: "You're not being fair! If the principal chews me out for this-"

"You'll merely be experiencing the consequences of your misguided actions. " Her voice gained a tiny sliver of steel. "Do not blame others for something _you_ did wrong. Leave the books here and report your offence at the Faculty office or I shall do so instead."

Deafening silence. Cowering behind the barrier of his booth, Akira awaited the coming events. Then:

"Go."

Hesitant footsteps. A door being slid to and fro.

The unlucky student left behind a library in quiet turmoil: the librarian buried herself in paperwork, the usual friendly chatter had been completely eradicated, an army of pens hurried across the lines as every person present threw themselves back into their work with the kind of vigour only produced by fear.

All except for one.

When Akira finally dared to peek over the barrier of his booth, the girl had already returned to her seat and her features were once again obscured by the tower of books on her table.

He packed his stuff together, grabbed the bag containing a worried-looking Morgana and left the library, ignoring the fact that he had barely written a line and in doing so was probably confirming the others in their stupid beliefs about him.

He did not care.

All he cared about was the fact that the knot in his stomach felt tighter than ever before.

Why?

Hell if he knew. And he wasn't going to pry and find out.

* * *

**April 24th, 20XX. Sunday. Daytime.**

At the hideout, a.k.a. the Shujin rooftop

"All right, all that's left now is to send Kamoshida the calling card and then steal his heart."

"Uh, dude, you still owe us an explanation on how that works."

"I was getting to that. Patience is a virtue, Numb-Skull." Morgana cleared his throat: "Since their holder isn't aware of them, distorted desires do not have a physical form per usual. A calling card is a message informing a person of the existence of these desires and threatening to take them away. Once they learn of their desires and the threat, they'll reflect on how much they 'treasure' them. It's more than just a bad pun, I swear. Their fear will give their desires a shape in their Palace, the reflection of their mind, which can then be stolen from there. Downside is, this method raises their awareness, meaning the security of the Palace. A calling card can only leave such a lasting impression once and the Treasure will only stay materialized for a very short time before disappearing again; one day at most. So, we'll have to prepare the calling card today, post it tomorrow morning and carry out the heist after school."

"I wanna write it!"

"Only if you manage not to automatically reveal who send it."

"I must agree with Lady Ann. Are you sure you're up to the task?"

"Don't worry, I'll give it all I've got."

"That's exactly what I amworried about."

"Akira thinks I should do it. Right, dude?"

"Sure."

"Heck, yeah!"

* * *

**April 25th, 20XX. Monday. Early Morning.**

He was having a positively pleasant morning up until he left the faculty office.

His first clue were the looks.

Students' eyes lingered on him for far longer than normal. Of course he didn't mind the girls staring a bit, but still...

His second clue came when he descended to the first floor. A crowd had gathered in front of the message board and the few students who saw him coming quickly went their ways.

Curious, he approached the spot of interest -and his world turned upside down.

Dozens of bright red cards had been pinned above the usual schedules and memos. There were two kinds: one showed a face consisting of a top hat overshadowing mischievous eyes and a spikey-teethed grin a Looney Tunes villain would have been envious of, together with the phrase 'Take Your Heart'. And the second type sported a text from cut-out newspaper letters, beginning with _his _name as the recipient:

_"Sir Suguru Kamoshida, the utter bastard of lust. etc. "_

He saw red. Not the colour of the cards but of his own inexplicable fury.

"Who's responsible for this?!"

Maybe he even lashed out. Until he saw three troublesome faces together.

Sakamoto.

Takamaki.

And that other guy.

"Did you do this?"

For the first time, he locked eyes with the new kid. They were empty, listless and uncaring. Incapable of rebelling.

"What garbage..."

_You'll be expelled soon anyways. And nobody's gonna steal anything from me!_

* * *

"Dunno 'bout you, but I'd say he looks pretty fiddly", Ryuji remarked once the volleyball coach had stormed off.

"As he should be", Ann stated curtly.

"Judging by his response, we definitely achieved the intended effect", Morgana confirmed. "Our only chance is today."

Akira nodded. "Let's go."


End file.
